


Saving Theon Greyjoy

by TheDumbBrunette00



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forced Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Past Child Abuse, Poor Theon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Ramsay is his own warning, Reader-Insert, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:37:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 33,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDumbBrunette00/pseuds/TheDumbBrunette00
Summary: Theon Greyjoy had once been your best friend, but then Balon rebelled and he was taken from you. When he comes crashing back into your life, nothing will ever be the same again.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys so this is a WAYYYYYYYYYY better version of the first "Saving Theon Greyjoy" this one has more mature themes and better writing so please enjoy! I finally decided to post this for DroughtJoy2017. Please remember to comment your thoughts down below and bookmark or like for updates when I post next!

You had always seemed fearless, ever since you were a baby, chasing after Asha with Theon’s hand in yours, pulling him ahead into the unknown, fighting with Rodrik and Maron even though they were years older and far bigger.   
Maybe it had something to do with being Ironborn, or maybe it was something distinctly unique to you, but the fact of the matter was that there were very few things in the world that frightened you, truly frightened you.   
And one of those fears was coming true right before your very eyes and you were powerless to stop it.   
You were losing your best friend.   
Theon Greyjoy had been your best friend ever since you could remember. Born only six weeks apart, the two of you had been raised together on the same wet nurse, treated by the same Maesters during times of childhood illness and injury, played in the same waters on the shores of the Iron Islands, he was a constant in your life, like an arm of a leg, one took it for granted until presented with the possibility of losing it.   
And now you were losing him, and you wondered whether losing an arm or a leg would have been just as painful.   
You stood at the front of the large crowd of Iron Men and Women that had amassed to witness the defeat of Balon Greyjoy, your mother was behind you, her hands on your shoulders holding you tightly as if she were afraid you would be ripped away from her as Theon was being ripped from his mother.   
The royal family, or what was left of it, stood next to their father, Alannys Greyjoy clinging to Theon and silently sobbing, Asha standing tall, a dazed look in her eye as if she believed the scene unfolding before her to be nothing more than a horrible dream that she desperately wanting to wake up from.   
Theon had his eyes cast to the ground, but you knew he was crying. You could almost picture his sea green eyes, brimming with tears that he unsuccessfully tried to keep hidden, biting his bottom lip as if the effort of hiding his emotions with physical pain.   
Balon’s words of surrender and the King Robert’s words of acceptance hummed like crashing ocean waves in your ears, all your attention focused on memorizing every single detail of your best friend, the one you weren’t sure whether you were to ever see again.   
Yet you couldn’t see his eyes. You could memorize every detail of him but his eyes. You couldn’t bear to forget them, and you worried they would already go hazy in your mind. So you prayed to every deity you knew for Theon to glance your way. To look up at you just one final time so that your eyes could meet one final time. That was all you’d want, all you’d ever ask for.   
And, to your surprise, Theon turned his eyes up from the ground toward you. His eyes were watery and puffy, the whites had turned red and bloodshot but the beautiful sea green irises remained the same.  
You gave Theon the largest smile you could muster, which wasn’t even a smirk, and hoped that it conveyed what you meant it to. That he would be safe, that he would be alright, that you loved him, that you would never forget him. But most importantly, you hoped it told him to be brave.   
Before, on days when Rodrik and Maron were being especially cruel, you would steal Theon away to your bedroom and hide with him under the covers in your own little universe that only the two of you shared and no one else. And you would smile and tell him things would be alright, and you would kiss the bruises, cuts, and scrapes on his body and hug him as tight as you could until the sun went down in the sky and the stars and moon took up their place.   
Now though, there was no blanket to hide under, there was no way you could make it better, it was all up to him now.   
And he had to be brave.   
Suddenly, the voices of King Robert and Balon Greyjoy stopped, and silence descended upon the world if just for a moment before two guards made their way over to Theon and grabbed him by his upper arm, ready to drag him to the ship.   
If only it were that easy.   
Because the moment they laid a finger on Theon, Alannys Greyjoy let out a blood curdling wail and held her son even closer.   
“Please,” she wept, “please, don’t take my boy! He’s all I have left, please, I’m begging you please!”   
Asha approached her mother, trying to help, but the soldier closest to her mistook her intentions and shoved the young girl to the ground where she landed with a “umph” that made Alannys only cry louder and Asha’s numbness turn to anger before your eyes.   
She launched herself at her attacker with a cry and shoved him to the ground, her tiny fists smacking the surprised man’s head before he could react. Another soldier stepped forward and lifted Asha off the man, all the while she screamed and kicked and protested. Two ironmen came to help her and suddenly an all out brawl was occurring right before your very eyes.   
And in the middle was Theon, tossed to the ground during the fighting and stranded in the middle, Alannys was being held back by Balon, Asha was still fighting with the guards, no one even bothered to help Theon.   
So you did. One last time.   
Pulling away from your terrified mother’s grasp, you plunged headfirst into the beast and ran towards your friend.   
“(Y/N)!” Theon cried out as you tackled him with a hug, tears rolled down both your cheeks and terrified sobs enveloped both your bodies as the walls of fighting monsters and ironborn grew so thick it blocked out the sun.   
But just as soon as it started, it stopped when one of King Robert’s men cried out.   
“Enough!” the man bellowed, “the rebellion has ended!”   
The fighting broke apart, reluctantly, until only you and Theon were left in what had been a swarming pit of violence a moment before.   
All eyes turned to you and the last Prince of Pyke.   
The very same man who’d stopped the fighting stood over you and your friend, his face sad, but friendly.   
“It’s time to go,” he said softly.   
Theon trembled against you and for a moment you wanted to refuse. Damn the rebellion, damn the peace, he was your friend and you didn’t want to lose him! For God’s sake you were only nine, neither of you had any place in this. Why was it that adults sent them out of the room when they talked yet felt the need to use them as pawns in their game?  
You looked at the crowd of ironmen, spotting your horrified mother amongst them. How many mothers in the crowd had lost their sons? How many children had lost their fathers? You were left with one choice, either sacrifice the entire goddamn Iron Islands for your best friend, or save everyone but lose him.   
There was no right answer.   
You looked to Theon, eyes locking one final time. Then he smirked at you, his body still trembling, and you knew he was telling you the same thing you told him all those times hidden under the blanket.   
Everything will be okay.   
Reluctantly and painfully, you untangled yourself from him and stood, stepping back as the kind man put a hand on Theon’s shoulder and led him away towards the ship.  
You watched the ship holding your best friend raise its anchor.   
You watched as the ship carrying your best friend sailed away.   
And you watched the empty sea, long after the ship had faded into the horizon, long after the crowd had dissipated, and you watched as the waves crashed against the craggy shores and you remembered Theon’s eyes, and you remembered his smirk.


	2. Ten Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon returns home, but who will he be when you meet him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This one is SUPER long! Thank you for reading and please leave your thoughts in the comments down below, also bookmark or leave kudos for updates when I post next!

“Asha please, why are you making me do this?” you asked as you tried to keep up with her long strides.   
“I already told you, I’m not explaining it again,” she huffed and you had to grit your teeth to keep from snapping back at her.   
When you heard Theon would be returning, you had been shocked, but it had quickly given way happiness at the thought of being reunited with the boy whose eyes you still saw every single night before you fell asleep.   
Asha had not shared your enthusiasm to say the least.   
To think that the sweet, innocent boy you had once been so close to could have turned out like the brutes of men that made up his household, for some odd reason, felt like an insult to you, which meant you were just as determined to prove her wrong as she was to prove you right.   
You still remembered the day the letter had arrived announcing that Theon Greyjoy, after ten long years, would finally be returning back to Pyke; back to home, but, most importantly, back to you.   
It had been an uncharacteristically nice day, the sun was peeking through the clouds like a child hidden between their mother’s skirts, and the wind had died down ever so slightly so that your hair didn’t whip your face every time it blew. You’d decided to spend the day down on the beach with a book you’d stolen from the Pyke Library so long ago you didn’t think anyone even remembered it being there, and just enjoy the day.   
Braving the dangerous cliffs and sharp rocks, you carefully made your way down to the shore, letting the salty sea waves lap at your bare feet, wetting the hem of your dress, before taking perch on the large, flat rock, low enough to enjoy the beach, but high enough to be untouched by the ocean if a storm came.   
You had discovered it sometime after the war, you didn’t remember when. You were unable to bear the loneliness of the caves you had often shared with Theon, and the entire castle felt empty and grey, as if all the color had been leached from the world, disappearing with your friend and with each life lost as a result of battle.   
This place had become your sanctuary.   
You had about thirty minutes to yourself before you heard someone call out to you, turning, you spotted one of your best friends, Tristifer Botley, standing atop the cliff which you yourself had descended to the shore.   
“(Y/F/N),” Tris shouted, “what in Gods name are you doing down there?”   
You rolled your eyes and closed your book, realizing that your perfect day had come to an abrupt end.   
“Trying and failing to get some damn peace and quiet,” you shouted back at him.   
Tris laughed, a hearty sound that sent your heart soaring.   
“So did you just come to bother me, or is it something important?” you questioned, shouting to be heard, wishing he would just leave so you could go back to your story.   
“The Lady Asha has requested your presence,” he said, using the title in a mocking tone before pausing for a moment, only speaking again when you made no effort to move, “immediately.”   
You groaned and rolled your eyes, tucking your book beneath your shoulder, you dropped back down from the rock and made your way to the jagged cliff, putting the book between your teeth, you made your way up to Tris.   
“Need a hand?” Tris asked once you were close enough that he could lean down and grab you.   
You shook your head and pulled yourself up, collapsing onto the flat, solid land and pulling the book from your mouth.   
“Eating the books now? I always heard you devoured stories but this is a little much, isn’t it (Y/F/N)?” he commented.   
You rolled your eyes, giving him a glance from beneath your eyelashes as you pulled on your slippers, you gave him a small smirk before grabbing your book and standing, even standing at your full height you had to look up to him.   
“So, did the Lady Asha give you any specifics as to why she needs me, or did she just tell you to fetch and you were running after me like a hound?” you asked as you lazily walked beside him, his usual long strides shortened to accommodate for you.   
He sighed and shook his head, “she wouldn’t tell me,” he said, his tone becoming serious rather fast, “but it’s not good.”   
You groaned, “what, did another Lord die?”   
Tris didn’t respond, the sudden change in his mood and behavior sent shivers throughout your body. For the past few months, Westerosi lords had been dropping like flies. First, Jon Arryn died, which wasn’t a terrible shock as the man had been well into his elder years. Then there was King Robert, you didn’t mourn, no one on the Iron Islands did, in fact great parties and celebrations were held throughout the island. Then there was Eddard Stark, and he was the only one you truly felt the slightest twinge of pain for.   
Eddard Stark had been King Robert’s man who stopped the fight all those years ago, he had been the only man to show you and Theon even the slightest bit of mercy. News of his passing had genuinely hurt you, he had seemed like one of the few truly kind people in the world.   
You had moved on though, the rest of the world had not been so accepting of the lord’s death however, and now his son was marching upon King’s Landing demanding King Joffrey’s head. You had never been so thankful of your little dingy, grey, rock you called home.   
You wondered how Theon was dealing.   
Two guards spotted your and Tris’s arrival and stepped aside, opening the heavy, wooden doors to the castle. You thanked them and entered. The closing of the doors behind you echoed off the stone walls and flooring of the castle.   
You followed Tris through the halls as he led you to the study where Asha often had meetings with her father. It was a sparse room, a large table on the right often laden with books, scrolls, and maps, a fireplace, a few chairs, and a few tapestries bearing the sigils of House Greyjoy and it’s allies.   
You, personally, hated the room, thinking it too stuffy and dingy to offer any inkling of comfort. You much preferred the library, tall wooden shelves laden with books that reached the ceilings. It had become your safe space once Theon had left. You had soon learned that with your nose buried in the pages of a book, you were never truly alone.   
Inside the study, Asha was pacing, biting her thumb, her brows knit in thought. She looked up when she heard you and Tris enter, her eyes were the same black as her father’s and brewed with worry.   
“Took you long enough,” Asha grumbled as she ran a hand through her short, black hair.   
“Sorry Princess,” you shot back, taking a seat by the fireplace and sighing, “so, which lord died today?”   
She looked at you, “none,” she said.   
This both surprised you and annoyed you, “then why the hell did you call me here?”   
“It’s Theon,” she growled back at you, which shut you up right then.   
“Theon,” you breathed, immediately shooting to your feet, “is he alright?”   
Asha nodded, “he’s coming home,” she said.   
And it felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of you and you collapsed back into the chair.   
After ten long years, Theon was finally returning home.   
Yet Asha had not shared your enthusiasm, neither had Tris. Both concerned about the kind of man he had become during his time in the North.   
“He’s a stranger,” Asha had said, “he’s not the same boy he was before he left, he’s a man and we have no idea what he’s become, he could be just as bad as Rodrik and Maron were.”   
You’d shuddered at the thought, you remembered Rodrik and Maron, both had delighted in making Theon’s life a living hell. They’d disgusted you, Maron moreso, Rodrik was a drunkard and could at least blame the alcohol for his dickish behavior. Maron was just cruel, pure and truly cruel. The only joy in his life he ever experienced was when he made Theon cry. You hadn’t learned until a few years after their deaths that you were supposed to marry Maron, the very thought made your skin crawl, so the idea that Theon, your best friend, the sweet, innocent boy you had once been so close to could have turned out like the brutes of men that made up his household, for some odd reason, felt like an insult to you, which meant you were just as determined to prove her wrong as she was to prove you right.   
The rest of the conversation was a blur, you vaguely remembered things being thrown, insults being hurled, a nasty bruise developed on your upper arm the next day presumably where someone had grabbed you, and the next thing you knew Asha had commanded you to help her “greet” Theon when he arrived as strangers, her posing under the name Esgred, you under the name Maryia.   
And here you were, standing near an inn with Asha, neither of you speaking to one another. Asha was speaking to one of the innkeepers while you were instead rambling to Wex Pyke, a bastard cousin to Tris. He was a kind, hard working boy, he was mute, but everyone who spoke to him could see the intelligence behind his eyes.   
“Oh! What's she carrying?” you heard one of the dock worker’s shout as a small dingy came up to shore.  
A cocky looking man was standing next to him. His hair was dark, his skin held a slight tan, and his clothing like that of the lords of the North who you had seen arrive from time to time to treat with Balon Greyjoy.   
Your breath caught in your throat. Could it be?  
“Myrish oranges, wine from the Arbor and the heir to Pyke and the Iron Islands,” the man said, a pride in his voice that hadn’t been there before.   
Theon. It was him.   
You made to walk up to him but Asha, who had apparently been paying attention to the interaction as you were, grabbed your arm and held you back, shaking her head slightly in a silent command. You listened and continued to watch.   
The dock master just looked the man, Theon, up and down, an unimpressed, impassive expression on his face.   
“The only living son of Balon Greyjoy,” Theon tried again only to be met with the same reaction.   
“Me,” he said.   
Asha began to laugh and you felt a stab of pity for him, this wasn’t how he wanted to be welcomed home, you knew it, and you felt guilty for having to participate in his torment.   
“I don't like wine, woman's drink,” the dock master said and you swore Asha almost began to laugh, having to keep her lips tightly pressed together to avoid giving away their cover.   
Theon seemed to be getting exasperated, “I need to get to Pyke,” he said, passing a few coins to the man when he shot a curious expression back at Theon.   
“I'll find you a horse,” the dock master said, a small smile coming to his lips as he walked away towards you and Asha, “he’s all yours, ladies.”   
Asha finally dropped you and stepped around you, making her way towards Theon.   
“I’m headed that way,” she called out.   
Theon turned around and glanced at the two of you, making your breath catch again, his eyes, they were the exact same. And they were staring right at you, his dark brow raised as he took you in.   
“W-We can take you there,” you stuttered out.   
A small smirk came to his lips as he sauntered over to you, “I bet you can,” he said and your heart sank, did he really not recognize you?   
“Have you been at sea long? Or were there just no women where you came from?” Asha asked, Theon turned his attentions towards her and away from you.   
“None like you,” he said flirtily, “or your pretty friend?”   
You wanted to die for him, red hot embarrassment flooded through you. He didn’t know who you were, didn’t know your intentions. God all you wanted to do was tell him the truth, stop this before it went any further, pull him into a tight embrace and never let him go. You hated yourself for taking this stupid bet.   
“Do you have names?” Theon asked.   
Asha smiled, “I’m Esgred, this is my good sister, Maryia.”   
“As…” you were about to say her name, give the two of you away but she quickly grabbed your forearm and dug her nails in so hard it made you flinch away from her.   
“What’s wrong with her?” Theon asked Asha, “is she stupid?”   
Asha laughed a mocking noise, “Struck dumb in your presence m’lord,” she stroked his ego, “she’s never seen a true prince.”   
You blushed scarlet as Theon sauntered over to you,“you know who I am?”   
“You think we offer rides to everyone Prince Theon?” Asha said.   
Just then the dock master returned, a horse in hand, Theon turned and ordered the man to send his things along with him. Asha glared at you in a silent warning before dropping your arm.   
“We have one horse back in the stables,” she said, “but I’ll take this one,” she gestured to the horse, the dock master handed her the reins, “the two of you can take the other.”   
Walking back to the stables, Wex looked at you curiously before handing you the reins to the mare you and Asha had taken from Pyke, climbing on first, Theon following behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.   
When you were younger, the two of you used to ride together whenever you could, you would always let him steer though, and everything between the two of you was as chaste and innocent as the rest of childhood was supposed to be.  
Nothing about this ride resembled that. You could feel Theon getting hard behind you and you jumped once his hand snaked up to your chest and pulled at the laces on your gown.   
“My lord-” you protested but were quickly silenced when he shushed you.   
“You have nothing to be afraid of, my lady,” he said, “if you’re lucky tonight you may sleep in a castle.”   
Asha was near to dying riding next to you, she had a good view of the entire interaction.   
“This will be a night you tell your grandchildren about,” Theon breathed into your ear as his hands slipped down you bodice and fondled your breasts.   
“I don’t believe it will be a tale fit for children!” Asha cried out and Theon laughed.   
It was then you decided that the man behind you could not be the same person who you had once considered your best friend. No, the man touching you now was not Theon Greyjoy, he was not your best friend, he was just an imposter with the same eyes.


	3. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader and Asha reveal their true identities to Theon, and how will he react once he has been betrayed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for taking so long to upload, Writers block and school and college apps and all that (btw this is not meant as an excuse, but as an explanation :))
> 
> Anyway I hope you all enjoy, please leave a like and comment down below as well as bookmark for updates when I post next!

You had never been so happy to return to the cold, grey castle in all your life, practically jumping off your horse and kissing the ground if only to be free from Theon.   
This was not how you’d always dreamt his homecoming to be. You always imagined that he would return the same little boy just all grown up, stepping off the ship and onto the sandy shore where you would be waiting, his body would relax once he saw you, the feeling of being a rope pulled taut would escape both of you once he came crashing into your arms. Both of you would rejoice at being reunited.   
You didn’t imagine him to have forgotten you entirely like you’d never even existed in the first place. You certainly didn’t expect him to begin to grope you almost making you steer the horse into the ocean in hopes of ending the interaction sooner.   
As you led your mare back through the stables, Theon never strayed far from your side. Neither did Asha, slightly behind you leading her stallion to a stall.   
Suddenly. Theon grabbed your ass causing you to jump.   
“Why don’t the two of you ladies finish up with the horses and come find me outside the throne room, then we can take the welcoming party back to my room?” he proposed, pinching you slightly.   
“Of course, m’lord,” Asha said, “wouldn’t miss it.”   
He kissed you softly on the cheek, a smirk on his lips, before turning and leaving the stables.   
As soon as he was out of sight Asha let out a bark of laughter, “you should have seen your face,” she breathed between laughs, “weren’t expecting that were you?”   
Your face burned bright red and tears pricked in your eyes, “shut up, Ash,” you growled as you finished corralling your horse.   
Asha became silent and suddenly serious, taking a few steps out to you and grabbing your shoulder.   
“I know you’re disappointed…” she began but you quickly cut her off.   
“You have no idea what I feel, so don’t pretend,” you snapped.   
She sighed, “I do,” she said, “I wanted him to be the same little brother he was when he left, I wanted it so bad (Y/F/N) you have no idea…”   
“This was your idea in the first place!” you argued back, “tricking him, deceiving him, he didn’t know who we were!”   
“Exactly!” Asha shouted, “do you think the old Theon would have done that? Do you think he would have acted like that?”   
No, he wouldn’t have. The old Theon would have been timid and too shy to ask anyone directions. The old Theon would have been red in the face at Asha’s boldness, he would have warmed up eventually, laughing and joking, but never flirting.   
Your heart sunk at the knowledge. Your best friend had gone and never returned. In some ways it would have been better had he died in Winterfell, at least you could have held onto the good memories and thoughts of him before these filled your mind.   
A tear spilled down your cheek.   
“You better stop that,” she commanded, “we still have to meet with him and my father, remember?”   
You sniffled, desperate to contain the rest of the salty water in your eyes, “what do you mean?”   
She smirked again, “how else do you think he’ll know it was us?” 

Both you and Asha quickly stripped out of your dirty riding clothes and into your usual garb, you in a dark brown dress with golden dots as pattern, and her in a pair of trousers and jerkin.   
Once done, the two of you made your way to the sitting room where her father spent most of his days.   
Both of Asha’s parents had become relative ghosts after the rebellion, Balon locking himself in his study and sitting room, Alannys hiding away in her chambers, weeping for the son who would never come home.   
The sweet innocent boy with the eyes like the ocean.   
The same boy who you’d lost in the North.   
As the two of you approached the door, you could already hear Theon and Balon’s voices practically shouting at one another through the heavy walls and thick doors.   
“...You will not name him brother, this son of the man who put your true brothers to the sword. Or have you forgotten your own blood?” Balon’s aged and crackling voice croaked out.   
“I forget nothing, I remember my brothers, and I remember when my father was a king” Theon’s reply came.   
You waiting behind Asha as she listened. You inadvertantly found yourself eavesdropping in as well.   
“I see. I destroy Robb Stark's enemies for him and he will make me king of the Iron Islands once again,” Balon spoke.   
“I will lead the attack myself,” Theon said, that pride and arrogance still in his voice.   
“Oh, you will?” Balon asked, a hint of amusement.   
“I'm your son, your only living heir. Who else?” Theon said.   
At that line, Asha turned and winked at you, throwing open the doors and stalking into the sitting room like a cat in a rabbits den.   
Theon turned and looked furiously at the two of you, seemingly unfazed by your change in outfits.   
“I told you to wait outside!” he said, “how did you get past the guards?”   
Balon laughed and opened his arms wide for Asha to enter into them, the pride he held in his daughter was no match for the pride Theon had in himself, it was like a star fighting the sun as to who shone the brightest.   
“Anything with a cock is easy to fool,” Asha said.   
Theon looked her up and down, “Asha?”   
“Good to see you, brother,” Asha said, stepping into her father’s embrace, leaving you standing awkwardly in front of the door, “this is a homecoming I’ll tell my grandchildren about…”   
At that line, Theon suddenly turned and looked at you, his eyes furious, he was practically seeing red.   
His eyes suddenly met yours and you felt all the breath leave your body once again.   
At this, Theon’s expression changed from one of anger and betrayal, to one of disappointment, sadness and maybe...shock?   
“(Y/n)?” Theon asked.   
You dropped into a low curtsey.  
“My lord,” you said.  
Theon turned back to Asha and his father, and the screaming match resumed. Their voices echoing and bouncing off the walls right back at you, but you weren’t listening, you were just wallowing in the sense of loss that seemed to surround you as much as their words did, stifling you and making it near impossible to breathe.  
“You won’t stand a chance against the Lannister’s on your own!” Theon shouted finally once he’d reached his breaking point.   
Asha simply smirked, “who said anything about the Lannisters?”  
She then walked out of the sitting room with her father in tow, presumably thinking you would follow, yet you found yourself rooted in place, left alone in the room with the imposter and his eyes.   
Theon, you thought, what had become of you?   
“Why the hell are you just standing there?” he growled at you.   
“I-I…” you began to stammer out, trying to think of anything to say and coming up empty.   
Theon laughed, “maybe you are really dumb,” he said, “makes me wonder why I ever wasted my time with such an insignificant girl like you.”   
His words hit like a slap in the face, jolting you back to life.   
“If I remember correctly, my lord, it is because no one else would give you the time of day,” you said, standing up straighter, “and who could blame them? Who would want to be friends with a sniveling child only to watch them grow into a narcissistic, arrogant, ignorant man? Certainly not I, and perhaps I may have very well been dumb to waste such time on you and not on your brothers, for you are not even a fraction of the men they were...perhaps I should have shielded Maron with my body while the tower fell and not yours when fighting broke out.”   
You didn’t know how, but you had managed to move during your speech, walking up to Theon so that the two of you were practically inches apart. His face bore a shocked expression at your words and you understood you had hit your mark in his cocky attitude and buried itself deep within his core.   
You gave him one final curtsey.   
“My lord,” you said the word more like an insult, each syllable dripping with venom, before you turned and raced out of the room.


	4. A Freed Squid Turned Kraken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon attends the feast while the Reader remembers the boy she lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUUUPPPPPPPPP! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter (I'm kind of on a roll recently) please don't forget to like and leave a comment down below! Also bookmark for updates when I post next!

When he had dreamed of his homecoming, he had dreamed of being celebrated. The return or the last living son of Balon Greyjoy, the heir to the Iron Islands, their Prince, their future King. He had dreamed of being greeted by crowds, his mother embracing him and weeping with joy at the sight of her boy, maidens lined up by the dozens, all ready and willing for him to take them, men chanting his name through the streets, his father smiling and shedding a tear or two, proclaiming how happy he was for his son to be home.   
He had not expected this.   
He had not expected to have been all but forgotten, to be looked at with distrust and bitterness as if he had willingly left, run off to the North to become Eddard Stark’s squire. As if he was a traitor. As if they hadn’t given him away, abandoned him.   
They looked at him like he were nothing more than a dog, a filthy, stinking dog.   
He had been a fool to think they would ever look at him otherwise.   
Laying down on his bed, Theon couldn’t help but replay the day’s events in his mind, and he couldn’t stop the reddening of his cheeks at the thoughts.  
The things he’d done, the things he’d said to them…  
He groaned and ran a hand down his face and, although he had washed them an ungodly number of times, he could still smell the phantom scent of (y/n) on his fingers.   
Gods, (y/n), he hadn’t even recognized her.   
The last time he’d seen her, it had been through the eyes of a child as everything he had known were ripped away from him.   
She had just been a little girl then, with an awkward face and body she was still in the process of growing into. Her hair had been wild and untamed then, and her mouth had had less teeth in it, gaps were she would poke her tongue through and smile at him. She had been a child just as he had, and his best friend.   
His only friend.   
She was the one who would get Asha when Rodrik and Maron were torturing him, she was the one who would care for his cuts and bruises when his mother was too busy and his sister was too inept, she was the one who would hide away with him and hold him while he cried, the one who let him slip into her bed on nights when it was just too dark or a storm came rolling through.   
She had been his best and only friend, and now she was nothing more than a stranger.  
“Perhaps I should have shielded Maron with my body while the tower fell and not yours when fighting broke out,” her words echoed in his ears, they were like poison seeping through his veins, killing him slowly.   
Suddenly, a knock sounded on the door to his bedchamber. With a groan, he rose and opened the door, only to be met with a young servant boy standing before him.   
“M’lord,” the boy said, bowing.  
“Yes, what do you want?” Theon asked, his words dripping with anger.   
“Your father requests your presence tonight at the feast,” he said.   
The feast, Theon thought with excitement, his homecoming, perhaps this was the celebration he would have dreamed.   
He nodded, trying not to let his emotions show on his face, “I’m coming,” Theon said, “go tell him.”   
The boy bowed again and scurried away, leaving Theon to dress and prepare for dinner by himself, and this time, he promised, he would not disappoint. 

You had never enjoyed the feasts that were often thrown by Balon Greyjoy, yet, as a lady of his daughter, it was required for you to attend, both to represent your house and to flaunt your status in hopes of one day catching the eye of someone who would ask for your hand.   
The whole affair made you feel like a prized pig being shown off before slaughter.   
Tonight, however, you weren’t in the mood to sit with either Tris nor Asha, not after what had happened with Theon. In fact, you didn’t even want to be there at all, you’d rather just go to your room, curl up in bed, and not move for the rest of the night.   
So that is exactly what you did.   
Feigning an illness, your mother allowed you to stay back, just this once, and “recover.” Although you didn’t know if you ever could.   
The feelings inside you were worse than they had been when Theon had been taken. When he had gone, you had clung to hope with two hands, believing someday the two of you would be reunited and that hole that the Starks and Baratheons and Arryns, and, yes, even Greyjoys had carved out of you would be filled and everything would be as it should be.   
That hope had kept you alive, had allowed you to fight.   
And now, that hope was gone.   
And that hole was larger and emptier than ever.   
Memories of the two of you replayed in your mind as you laid there, and, eventually, you felt yourself drift off to sleep. 

“(y/n)!” you could hear him calling, “come look what I’ve found!”   
The salty sea air froze your face as you ran to the shore where Theon stood. You picked up your skirts as you ran, letting your wet, sand-coated feet slap the ground.   
“What is it?” you said as you neared.   
“Look,” Theon held out his hand to you.   
In his palm, sat a small squid, no larger than the tip of his finger. It was a pale cream color, almost the color of skin, with big, black dots for eyes. Had it not been for the slight movements of its legs and the black eyes staring up at you, you wouldn’t have noticed it at all.   
Shakily, you extended your hand and placed a finger on one of the squid’s squirming tentacles, letting out a squeal and jumping back at the slimy, squishiness beneath your finger.   
“It’s a kraken,” Theon said, “just like the one on my house sigil!”   
You smiled, “it’s small like you too,” you said, and Theon laughed.   
“I want to keep it,” Theon said, petting the squid softly with the tip of his finger, “I want to keep it and let it get big, so then I can have a kraken of my own.”   
“You can’t do that,” you said.  
“Why?” he asked, “I’m a prince, I can do as I please.”   
“You should put it back,” you said again, softer this time.   
Theon looked at you with his big sea-eyes, a desperate look on his face.   
“Krakens need space to grow,” you said, “they need the sea, they need to be free, or else they stay little and die.”   
Theon looked back at his pet, “I don’t want it to go,” he said.   
“It’ll come back one day,” you said, “it’ll come back looking for the boy who saved it from the shore, and it will be big and strong and then you can keep it, but for now…”   
“For now it has to go,” he said sadly, “I know, (y/n).”   
Theon pet the little squid one last time before he knelt down and placed it in the surf, the tide coming in and carrying back to sea. Theon looked on with tears burning his eyes and you put your hand on his back softly.   
“He’ll come back, Theon,” you said, “he’ll always remember you were the one who set him free.”   
Theon swallowed, “when he does come back...will you be there with me? I’m afraid he won’t remember me if you’re not with me.”   
You nodded, “of course I will be, I’ll always be with you, no matter what.”   
“No matter what,” he repeated. 

You sat up in bed with a jolt, the memory having startled you out of sleep by how vivid it had been. You and Theon could not have been more than six or seven at the time. You remembered that squid, the eyes looking up at you, the promise you’d made. Neither of you had known, how could you have?   
Wet tears stuck to your face and you quickly wiped them away and swallowed, your throat tasting like sandpaper, you needed water.   
Darkness had descended upon Pyke in the hours that you’d slept, so you lit a candle and wrapped a silken robe over your sleeping gown and made your way out of your room and down to the kitchens for a glass.   
You could still hear the remnants of the party throughout the castle, even over the rolling thunder and pitter patter of rain. Passing by one of the small windows, a flash of lightning illuminated the hall, almost eliminating the need for a candle at all.   
Suddenly though, another flash came, and you were startled to see a figure, standing out on the swaying rope bridge, looking over the edge, his black hair matted against his high cheekbones. He was leaning over the bridge at his waist, vomiting into the sea below.  
Without second thought, you bolted to the door the rope bridge led to and swung it open.   
“Theon?” you cried out from where you stood inside the castle, “Theon!”   
He turned to looked at you, strings of vomit still clung to his lips and chin, and he had the look of a man who had drank more than his fair share of ale and wine.   
“Theon, come inside now, it’s dangerous out here,” you said.   
“Why,” he slurred, “wats the poin’”   
Angrily, you stepped out onto the swaying bridge and marched over to Theon. Your legs trembled slightly in the wind and the thought of being so high up. One slip and you were dead. You prayed the rope held.   
When you finally reached him, you were well and fully drenched. The rain making your gown and robe stick to you like a second skin. It was only when you had finally reached Theon that you realized you didn’t have a plan on how to get him inside. He was bigger and probably a lot heavier than what you were able to carry, and, even in his drunken state, he was probably stronger than you and able to hold his ground just enough to make the act of dragging him inside impossible.   
Still, you had to try, right?  
You grabbed him by his upper arm, feeling the curves of muscles beneath his clothing, and began tugging him back to the door.   
It was only on the second tug that he decided to oblige, nearly collapsing against you without the assistance of the rope holding him up.   
You let out a groan as his full weight smashed into you, he stank of alcohol and bile, even out here it was overwhelming and you had to resist the urge not to gag.   
“Gods, how much did you drink?” you muttered under your breath as you slowly and carefully helped lead him back inside.   
Theon let out a small chuckle, “a lot.”   
“I can tell, Squid boy,” you said, using the nickname Tris had made up for Asha years ago and changing the pronoun.   
“Did you just call me a squid?” Theon asked confused, “I’m a kraken.”   
You shook your head, “yes, yes, I know,” you said.   
Finally reaching the door, you pulled yourself and Theon inside and slammed the door behind you, releasing a breath you hadn’t been aware you’d been holding once you realized you were safe inside.   
Turning back to face Theon, you saw that he was staring at you and your cheeks flushed red.   
“Do you need help getting back to your rooms, my lord?” you said, reminding yourself that this was not Asha or Tris, this was not your friend and he had made it very clear to you earlier that you were to address him as your superior.   
He laughed again, “you sound so silly, (y/n),” he giggled, “you just called me a squid and now I’m a lord.”   
“That’s how most men of the Iron Islands grow,” you said, a small smile growing on your face despite how hard you tried to hide it.   
“Yes,” Theon spoke.   
“Pardon?” you asked.   
“Yes, I need you to help me get to my rooms.”   
You blushed again.   
“Oh,” you said, “well...alright.”   
“I might also need you to help me undress…” he said, what you supposed was his attempt at a flirty look crossed his face.   
“No…” you began.   
“But did you not just say that I am your lord?” he asked, “and you must do what your lord commands.”   
You bit your tongue. Damn him, womanizing bastard.   
“Please,” he said suddenly, “I-I won’t try anything I just-just need help…”   
You looked at him, he seemed genuinely sincere.   
“Alright,” you said, “but if you try anything, I’m going to hit you.”   
With that, you slung one of his arms around your shoulders and put one arm around his waist. With your free hand, you grabbed your candle from where you had left it and helped walk Theon through the halls back to his room.   
His room was not a far walk away from where Asha’s was, so it was quite an easy walk, that and the fact that you had memorized it by heart after he left. For weeks after he was gone you had laid in his bed and sobbed for your lost friend, the smell of him surrounded you, making him seem closer than he actually was. You didn’t remember when you had stopped sleeping there, but you were suddenly glad you had, or else you’d have no idea where to leave him.   
Entering into the dust covered room, you helped Theon strip out of his wet clothes, blushing at his nakedness. True to his word, he hadn’t tried anything with you. When he was dry, you went across the hall to retrieve a pitcher of water, washcloth, and cup from Asha’s room.   
When you had returned, he had passed out in his bed, his breathing even, he looked so...peaceful, and for a moment you could imagine that he was the same boy who had first left.  
You shook your head, snap out of it, you scolded yourself, you were here to do your duty and that was it.   
Dunking the cloth into the water, you gently, as to not wake him, wiped the vomit from his chin.   
You threw the cloth on top of the dirty clothes and poured yourself some water into the cup, taking a quick sip, you left the rest for Theon, knowing he would need it in the morning when he had no memory of the night before, except for a splitting headache.


	5. Pressed Flowers and Ruined Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon realizes that he's been a dick and attempts to make amends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter, having a really fun time writing this series! Please leave your thoughts and kudos down below and bookmark for updates when I post next!

The first thing Theon realized when he awoke in the morning (besides the pounding headache), was that he was not in his room, his chest of clothing was absent, his papers, ink, and quills were missing, even his jug of wine and cup was gone.   
Everything he had come with were gone and replaced with dust and a stiff scratchy bed. The wine had turned to water and, while he was thankful for it, it confused him. Even the window was different with black curtains hanging on either side, tied with gold rope, speaking that the room had once held more importance than simply a guest bedroom.   
He didn’t remember much of last night, and what he did remember was hazy. Asha sitting in his seat, the men laughing, the ale burning it’s way down his throat and then back up again, the coldness of the rain against his skin, soft...soft hands on his skin?   
No, that’s not right, he thought, there’s no girl here.   
The mysterious room was empty save for him and some furniture, if he had brought a girl here, or if a girl had brought him here, where was she? Had he already sent her away, or had she gone of her own volition? The questions circled around and around in his head until it made him queasy.   
Jumping out of bed he went to the window and wretched, nearly tripping over the pile of his still damp clothes in a mad dash to get to the window. He sent a silent curse to whatever sadistic god chose to create the after effects of drink.   
Once his stomach was emptied and there was nothing more than dry heaving he could do, Theon returned to the stiff bed and collapsed, undoing the curtains and pulling them tight over the window, removing any light from the room.   
He didn’t enjoy more than a moment of blissful dark, silence when the door to the room was suddenly flung open, causing him to jump, and his sister stood in the doorway.   
He hopelessly pulled at the bedsheets trying to form some kind of modesty for himself.   
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Asha screeched, “we’ve been looking all over for you, we thought you fell off the bridge!”   
“Wouldn’t you have liked that?” Theon shot at her, “and have you ever heard of knocking?”   
Asha marched over to the window and flung open the curtains causing the brightness of pierce through Theon like an arrow causing him to groan.   
“Get up,” she said, throwing the dirty clothes at him “get up and go!”   
“Where the hell even am I?” Theon asked.   
Asha gave him a mirthless laugh, “of course you don’t remember,” she said, “tell me, which whore did you bring here last night?”   
“I don’t know,” he said, “I don’t even think there was one!”   
“Don’t think I’m stupid, Theon,” she screamed, “there’s footprints in the dust on the floor that aren’t mine and certainly aren’t yours, so who was she?”   
Asha was manic at this point, gripping him by the shoulders with her fingernails digging into his flesh.   
“I don’t remember,” he said, “why do you even care, why are you acting so crazy?”   
She removed her hands from his shoulders and crossed them over her chest, “look around, little brother, do you even recognize this place?”  
Theon looked around the room. It was large, but sparsely decorated, containing only the large, four post bed, a wardrobe, a table, and two chairs. He wouldn’t deny, there was something oddly familiar about the room, the patterns on the sheets, the wood carvings of krakens in the wardrobe. Realization hit him like a ton of bricks.  
“This is my room,” he said.  
“It was,” Asha said, “it’s not anymore, now go back to your new room Theon, leave.”   
Definitely, Theon stood and looking his sister in the eye. He was taller than she was now, and he had to tilt his head down to meet her gaze.   
“Yes it is,” he said calmly, “this is my room, and I want to stay here.”   
Asha balled her hands to fists and anger caused a blush to rush her cheeks.   
Theon turned away from her and made to the door, throwing it open, he startled a young serving boy who was walking past.   
“Boy,” he said, “go to my guest room and bring all my things here, do you understand?”   
The boy nodded.   
“Good, now go on,” Theon said.  
He closed the door only to be met with Asha’s cold glare.   
“I would have thought you’d have a better understanding of what it means to not be wanted,” she said.   
Walking past him, she threw open the door and left, slamming it hard enough behind her that he swore the castle shook.   
With a sigh, Theon collapsed, once again, onto the bed, this time, however, when his head hit the pillow, he was stabbed by something underneath it.   
Jumping up, Theon pulled the pillow away only to be met with another rush of memories.   
Small toys and trinkets, pieces of shells and rocks all rested beneath his bed, exactly where he’d left them as a child.   
Among the treasures, were two gold coins he’d found on the beach, a wooden kraken along with a wooden ship toy, two seashells, one wrapped like a cone with orange spots on it’s white, glass like surface, one looked like a fan with light pink outside and pale white on the other side, a small, black pearl, a piece of smooth obsidian, and, one book that hadn’t been there before, with a dry, brittle pressed flower behind the cover.   
And suddenly, he knew who had brought him to this room, and he knew he had to find her. 

She was crying that day, sitting on the sand, rocking back and forth, shivering, and sobbing, her salty tears mixing with the ocean water covering her body.   
It scared him.   
She was the fearless one, the one that never cried.   
He was the terrified one, the one who she comforted.   
Now there roles were reversed and he was utterly clueless at what to do.   
When he was upset, she would take him to her bedroom and hide under the covers with him and tell him of some new story she had read or new history she had learned, or maybe she would even sing to him, but sometimes, they would just lay there in silence and he would just cry.  
He didn’t know how, but she always knew when was the right time to do what.   
He didn’t.   
He felt so helpless, just sitting there, watching her nearly drown in her own tears. What kind of friend was he if he at least didn’t try to help her?   
With an idea shooting through his mind, Theon got up and went to one of the few green spaces on the beach, where he knew, hidden behind some shrubbery, he would find it, the thing that would dry her tears and make her smile.   
Rushing back to her side, he sat down and held out the pink flower for her to take.   
A beach rose.   
Looking at him, he saw the cut on her lip more clearly than before, the blood had nearly dried, but it was still bright red with some drying on her chin.   
“Here,” he said, eyeing the destroyed book in her arms, the one Maron had thrown into the water and she had dove into get, “I’m sorry.”   
Carefully, gently, she lifted the rose from his hands and stared down at it. Slowly, a smile crept to her lips. Lifting the soggy, leather cover of her ruined book, she put the flower on the page beneath and closed it.   
“Thank you, Theon,” she said, before she leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and made his heart soar. 

The library at Pyke was almost always empty, save for a Maester or tutor who never bothered you. It was one of your favorite places in the whole castle. After Theon left, you had divided your time between his room, the rock, and here, between the shelves where you could escape the pain and loss of your friend for just a moment, so wrapped up in the plights of the characters that Theon’s name disappeared from your mind.   
That was what you were trying to do now, curled up on a window seat, between two shelves with a book open, you ran from your thoughts and into the story.   
You were so enraptured in the story, that you hadn’t even registered the entrance of another man until he was standing right above you, blocking some of the light.   
Looking up, you were startled when you were met with the all too familiar eyes of Theon Greyjoy.   
“They told me I could find you here,” he said.   
“Who said that?” you asked.   
“Nearly everyone in the palace,” he replied he took a seat right across from you, your feet nearly touching his knees.   
“What are you doing here?”   
“I know it was you who brought me to my room last night,” he said.   
You flushed, “oh.”   
“I wanted to thank you,” he said.   
“Oh.”   
“And I want you to come for a ride with me.”   
“Oh, wait-no, I mean...yes,” you said.   
Theon laughed and stood, “well come on then,” he said, holding out his hand, “we haven’t got all day.”


	6. What Was and Can Never Be Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader explains just how she feels about Theon and it will completely crush him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoy please leave kudos and comments down below if you enjoy, and bookmark for updates to when I post next!

“I want my own horse,” you said as you followed Theon into the stables.   
“Alright then,” he said.   
“And I want to make it perfectly clear that I’m not a whore,” you said.   
Theon turned and smiled at you, “do you think that little of me?”   
“You haven’t given me a reason not to…” you said.   
Theon’s smile faltered, “then allow me to today.”   
The suddenness of it all startled you slightly, why was Theon suddenly being so nice? Something had to be wrong, since he’d come here, the two of you had been nothing but bitter towards one another since he’d arrived, all except for last night when he was drunk off his mind, maybe the morning-after effects held some magic that you were unaware of.   
Wex helped the two of you saddle your horses, you getting the mare from yesterday, and Theon a stallion of the same breed, a pale white color with grey spots dotting its fur. As Wex passed you the bridle, he shot you a concerned look, almost as if asking “what the hell are you doing with him? Have you gone mad?” You only rolled your eyes and gave him a slight shrug of your shoulders, responding back, “I don’t know?” and “what was I supposed to do?”   
Thanking the boy, you mounted as did Theon, and the two of you set out.   
The ride was filled with awkward silence at first, but as soon as you’d gone a distance away from the stables and there were no persons in sight, Theon spoke.   
“I want to thank you,” he said, his voice startling you.   
“You already said that, my lord?” you asked.   
“I know,” he said, “I just want to say it again.”  
You felt heat rise to your cheeks, “my pleasure, my lord.”   
“Stop that,” Theon said, “don’t do that.”   
“Do what, my…”   
“That!” he said suddenly, cutting you off, “stop calling me ‘my lord’ you never used to do that when we were kids, I don’t want you to do it now.”   
The mention of your childhood self sent a ripple of shock through you, and the fact that he was commanding you to revert back to your former self was almost too much to handle. Theon had been a stranger since he’d arrived, and now, suddenly, here he was, trying to capture your friendship and heart once again and you were helpless to do anything against it, like a rock against the wave, you could do nothing but stand and bear it.   
“Where are we going?” you asked suddenly, desperate to change the subject and fill the silence.   
“I was thinking you should chose,” he said, “I want to see the Island again, and I want you to show me.”   
You swallowed, gripping the reins of your mare tighter in your sweaty palms.   
“Where would you like to go?” you asked.   
Theon thought for a moment, “is there a market?”   
You nodded but scrunched up your face at the thought, the pickpockets and smell of fish invading your memories.   
“Not a very good one if you’re making that face,” he said with a laugh, “so that’s out, is there a…”   
“Tavern?” you asked.  
Theon mimicked your original response to the market, “why would you want to go there?”   
You shrugged, “seemed like a place you’d like to go to.”   
He looked a little hurt at your insult but laughed it off, “maybe in Winterfell when I’m with other men,” he said, “but I hardly think a tavern is the type of place to take a lady.”   
You nodded, “so where?”   
Theon was silent for a second, “what about the beach?”   
The question made you feel oddly defensive, the idea of bringing him back to the place where you and Theon had had so many memories felt a bit like tainting the memory of him, like he was taking the memory of your best friend and shoving it in your face that he was gone, that he was never coming back. It nearly drove you mad.   
“Why don’t you just go on your own?” you said.   
Theon turned to look at you, “what’s wrong (y/n)?” he asked.   
“Nothing, my-Theon,” you responded.   
Theon sighed, “no, you’re not,” he said, “remember, you and I can tell when the other is lying?”   
The words surrounded your throat like a clawed hand, suffocating you, choking all the words from your throat and releasing them into the air where they would hang forever as you tried your best to make room for air.   
“Why are you so bent on tormenting me?” you asked, meaning for it to come out like a lion’s roar and cursing yourself when it sounded more like a mouse’s squeak.   
Theon paused his stallion and turned to look at you, aghast, “tormenting you?”  
“Yes,” you said, halting your mare’s progress, “you keep reminding me that he’s gone, that he’s never coming back, is this some kind of game for you? Showing me once was enough, I get the message, but now here you are telling me once again that he’s gone, that it’s all my fault!”   
“Who’s gone?” Theon asked.   
“You!” you screamed, “the old you! The boy who was my dearest friend, the little kraken with the sea in place of blood and the sweetest soul you’d ever see! The boy who clung to me tighter than a falling man clings to rope, and I, in turn held, him closer to my heart than a brother! That boy who you keep making a mockery of, every time you say my name or sleep in his bed, or seek me out! So why? Why, my lord, must you keep hurting me over and over again?”   
Theon was silent for a moment, just looking at you. Surprisingly, no tears escaped you during your tirade, rather your breath had returned and you felt ten pounds lighter, so light you might float away like a feather on the next passing breeze. You’d said what you’d needed to say, what you couldn’t tell to anyone else, not Asha, not Tris, not even your mother, you’d poured it out to a man so hell bent on your destruction and the ruin of your most precious memories.   
And you could not find it in your heart to regret saying any of it.   
Theon swallowed after a moment, the pain and shock of your confession tasting like acid on the way down.   
“If that is how you feel, go,” he said.   
You paused for a moment, unsure of what to do. You wanted to leave, to turn and go and run away, back to your cozy library, filled with the smell of parchment and leather. But, you couldn’t, for some reason, you just...couldn’t leave him.   
“Didn’t you hear me?” Theon rounded on you, “you stupid girl, run on home, go!”   
Snapping out of your thoughts you turned your mare and raced away, digging your heels into her side and abandoning the man and taking with him his only source of salvation. 

He had not had the heart to ruin it, the book and rose. Instead, he held them in his hands as carefully as a mother would her newborn babe.   
The browned petals were crumbling and the crinkly, wrinkled pages of the book were smeared with ink, but they were the most precious things in the world to him at that moment, but also the most cursed.   
He had not realized it until she spoke to him that he, too, had lost a friend.   
The girl who he had once loved more than his own sister, more than his brothers. The girl who had once been his protector and playmate. The girl who had made living life bearable, even after he’d left, the memory of her had stayed with him for a time, and the dreams he’d had of her had been his only comfort in those early days.   
But she had died along with his old self.   
Maybe once they would have embraced one another with open arms, maybe once, she would have wept with joy at his homecoming, all soft and fair and clever as she had always been, and him as timid and kind as his childhood self, but those days had long gone.   
Now, instead of his best friend, the girl who had told him tales of maidens and krakens and evil sorcerers, she was almost a carbon copy of his sister; cold and cruel- Ironborn.   
He found himself wishing to go back in time, whether it be to the day he arrived at Winterfell or the day he stepped off the ship into Lordsport, and shake himself, tell him who she was, tell him to treasure her, to remember her, to be himself for her.   
But he could not.   
Suddenly, a knock sounded at his bedchamber door, startling him into spilling the wine he had been drinking over his tunic.   
Letting out a string of curses as he took a cloth and attempted to salvage his now ruined shirt, he opened the door and was met by a servant.   
“What is it?” Theon grumbled.   
“Your father has requested your presence at the council meeting,” the young boy said.   
“Tell him I’m busy,” Theon said, “I’m not in the mood to be humiliated today.”   
The boy shook his head, “your father demanded that I bring you,” he said.   
Theon grabbed the boy by the collar and brought him up to his face, sneering at the boy’s frightened expression.   
“Listen to me,” he growled, “I don’t care if the Drowned God himself sent you to fetch me, I’m not going!”   
He dropped the boy, who stumbled to the floor and made a hasty retreat, forgetting proprietary and just rushing to leave the disgraced prince’s company.   
Bitterly, Theon shut the door and collapsed back into his chair by the table.   
Another knock sounded at the door not a few moments later, and Asha entered the room without waiting for a reply.   
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, “is it your mission to be the most incompetent man alive?”   
“Leave,” he commanded, taking another sip of his wine.   
“No,” she said, “I just had a serving boy come rushing to my room to tell me you denied father’s request to the council meeting!”   
“You’re damn right I did,” he said.   
“Why?” she asked, “isn’t this what you were sent here to do? Plead us to give Robb Stark aid?”   
“What’s the point?” Theon said, “father made it very clear that it’s not happening.”   
“Don’t you want to redeem yourself?” she said, “don’t you want to be the Prince you kept claiming to be at Lordsport?”   
Theon jumped and rushed at her, meaning to strike her, to expel her from his room in one swift movement, but before he could even lay a hand on her, her palm met his cheek with a slap, strong enough to send him ricocheting to the floor.   
“Never. Do. That. Again,” Asha said, threateningly calm.   
For a second, Theon could swear that she looked just like Maron standing over him. His second slap since he’d arrived at the Iron Islands, another received from a family member. Seems like they’re picking up where Rodrik and Maron couldn’t, Theon thought and, for some reason, in his drunken stupor, began to laugh.   
“Get dressed,” Asha said harshly, throwing the clothes he’d worn on the ride with (y/n) two days ago at him, “the meeting is in twenty minutes, and if you’re not there, by the Drowned God you’re going to wish you’d stayed in Winterfell.”   
Then she spun and exited him room, the door slamming behind her.   
“...if you’re not there, by the Drowned God you’re going to wish you’d stayed in Winterfell.”   
But what she didn’t understand, was that he already did.


	7. Kraken or Wolf?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon attends the council meeting and is determined to prove himself, but will his family give him the chance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you guys! I am really proud of all the response I've been getting! Please feel free to comment, leave kudos, and bookmark for updates when I post next!

Somehow, by some miracle, he’d managed to pull himself together in time for the council meeting. Splashing water in his face and dressing in a new pair of clothing, Theon entered the council room with his head held high, just as he was taught to in Winterfell, and took his place at one of the empty seats near his father, Asha, of course, occupied the one to his right, and his uncle, Victarion, sat in the one to the left, so he took his place in the empty seat next to Asha, who glared at him as he sat down.   
“You stink of wine, baby brother,” she huffed.   
“And you just smell in general, sweet sister,” he smiled at her and she clenched her hands into fists. For a second he thought she might strike him, but instead she just sat there, seething.   
The meeting began not long after, but Theon paid it no attention. He recognized few faces at the table anyway, and he doubted he’d know what was happening.   
Of the faces he did recognize, one was his uncle Rodrik, he had the same Harlaw features as his mother and him. When he was a child, his uncle had been kind to him, he remembered the kind man tickling him as he sat on his mother’s lap, just to make his sister smile in adoration for her child. He wondered what he would say if he learned Theon had not even bothered to see his mother since his arrival, he didn’t think he could bear the thought of his mother’s rejection.   
He also recognized (y/n)’s father, Lord (y/l/n). He was a large man, yet he had seemed larger when Theon was a child. He had doted on his daughter, he remembered vaguely, a time at a feast, where, drunkenly, he had lifted his daughter into his arms and planted kisses on her cheeks, proclaiming her the most precious girl in the world, saying he would gladly lay down his life for the opportunity for her see glory, to know the true might of the Iron Islands. She had cried then, begging her father to live. He had only laughed at her and assured her he would survive, and the Iron Islands would be freed from Baratheon rule.   
Well, he’d not lied, Theon thought of the Lannister brat on the throne, it had just taken longer than usual.   
“Now onto the matter of the North,” his father spoke, catching Theon’s attention, “it remains unguarded at the moment, a perfect opportunity for raiding.”   
“I agree,” Victarion spoke, “now is the perfect opportunity to strike.”   
“Strike?” Theon said.   
“They have taken everything from us,” Asha spoke up, “they killed my brothers, humiliated the Iron Islands, and oppressed us for far too long, it is time we strike back, you best of all of us should know this, Theon, or have you forgotten your history?”   
The comment hit him like a blow to the face.   
“I forget nothing,” he said.   
“Truly? Because it seemed that way when you came crawling to father, begging for aid like you were the Stark’s bitch…”   
“That is enough!” Balon interjected, slamming his hand on the table, causing the council members to jump, their attention off of the bickering brother and sister and back onto their leader, “leave me with my children.”   
The council members rose and silently left the room, some gave him glares as they left, looking at him like he were nothing more than shit on their boots. It drove him mad, so mad that he was near to bursting with words by the time they left.   
“You gave me away,” he said, his voice deathly calm and even, “and now you’ve cursed me because I’ve come home.”   
Balon seemed to turn these words over in his mind, “I gave away a boy, my last boy,” he said, “and they sent me back a man half of what his brother’s were.”   
Shame rose red hot in Theon’s cheeks. His father was right, the Starks had ruined him.  
His own family could not bear to look at him, his best friend called him a tormentor, and his people despised him. And it was all the Stark’s doing.   
“Give me a chance to prove myself to you,” Theon said, “give me a ship, I know the North better than all the men on this island combined. Give me a ship, give me men, and I will give you the North.”   
“I don’t want to North,” Balon said.   
“But you just said…”   
“We are a sea people, our strength lies in the ocean, even if I had the North, we could not hold it,” Asha said, “and moreso, you think father would ever give you a command? You, who’d betray the Iron Islands in a moment?”   
“I would never do that!” Theon cried.   
“What about when Robb Stark calls?” Asha asked, “you’re as good as a Stark, Theon.”   
Rage burned through his veins. He wanted to scream and wrap his hands around her throat and choke the life out of her, to wipe that smug smile so like his off her face. To prove just how much a man he really was.   
“What must I do to prove myself to you?” he asked, “whatever it is, I’ll do it.”   
Balon raised his brows, curious at his son’s plea.   
“You need ties here in the Islands,” Balon said, “something far too precious for us to hold while you’re away, something that would make it impossible for you to betray us without losing.”   
Theon swallowed, “and what would that be?”   
Balon let a smile grace his lips, sending shivers down Theon’s spine.   
“That girl of Asha’s,” Balon said, “I remember you were very fond of her during your childhood.”   
“(Y/n)?” Theon said, disbelief clouding his words, his heart rising to his throat.   
“Yes! That’s the one,” Balon said, “she was to marry one of your brothers, Maron, if I remember correctly.”   
“Father, no,” Asha said, alarm in her voice, the smile gone and her eyes wide with horror, “you cannot possibly…”   
“I cannot what, daughter?” Balon asked.   
Asha fell silent but the look of terror remained.   
Balon turned back to Theon, his cold, black eyes locking with his son’s sea-green.   
“Fetch me Lord (y/l/n),” Balon called to a servant, who exited the room and returned a few moments later with (y/n)’s father in tow.   
“My lord,” he said.   
Balon smiled at him, “how would you feel discussing a marriage between our children once again?”


	8. Could Be Worse...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and the Reader finally confront one another about their betrothal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you like this chapter, please feel free to like and comment your thoughts down below, also be sure to bookmark for updates when I post next!

Asha was the one who told you. Bursting into the library with Tris by her side, her eyes red and puffy, Tris was stiff and white faced.   
At first, you’d thought something terrible had happened to Asha’s mother, or perhaps your mother or father and they were the ones tasked with informing you of the tragedy. Asha nearly collapsed into the seat next to you and pulled you close into a hug, something she never did.   
“Ash,” you asked, “what’s wrong?”   
She sniffled and continued to hold you, “I tried to stop them, (y/n),” she said.   
“Stop who?” you asked, thinking someone had attacked her, your heart stopping as your words hanged there in the air, waiting for a reply.   
“Our father’s,” she whimpered, “they...they wouldn’t listen…”   
You pulled away from her and looked her in the eyes, “did they do something to you?”   
Tris shook his head, “it’s about you…”   
“Me?” you asked alarmed, “what is it?”   
“You’re father made a deal,” Tris said, “you marry Theon and he gets to regain his claim to the Salt Throne, you become Queen of the Iron Islands, and Theon is your king.”   
The breath seemed to leave your body at once, you combed over Tris’ words in your mind, spinning them around and around until they finally clicked and made sense.   
“I...I’m to marry Theon?” you asked.   
Asha let out a sob and pulled you close once again.   
Maybe they expected you to cry, maybe they thought you’d scream and throw things and proclaim the world cruel and unfair, or maybe they thought you’d burst to the highest point of Pyke and throw yourself off.   
But you did none of this.   
Instead, you sat numbly, not speaking, not moving, you didn’t even know if you were breathing.   
You were just existing, processing this new information the best you could.   
What had happened? You wondered, this morning you’d awoken a free woman, a girl with endless options of men to chose from, free from the responsibilities that came with being someone’s wife, and now here you were, engaged to be married within three weeks time to a man who you maybe once could have loved, but was now barely anything more than a stranger.   
You needed to see him, you thought, you needed to speak with him, to know what he thought, what he felt, whether he had sold your soul for glory or whether he had thought of you all while this decision was being made.   
“Where is he?” you asked.   
Asha pulled away, “what do you mean?”   
“Where’s Theon?” you asked.   
Asha shook her head, “he’s probably in his room getting smashed off his ass,” she said.   
“I have to speak with him,” you said rising, only to have Asha grab your hand and Tris rush over to support you.   
“I’m not sure that’s…” Tris began only for you to cut him off.   
“I’m to be married to him in less than a month, Tristifer,” you said, “I’m going to have to speak with him eventually.”   
Brushing off their hands and concerns, you turned and stomped out of the library, a newfound determination and confidence in your step. 

“Your little friend is very pretty, little brother,” Maron teased.   
Theon sat up a little straighter as he turned to face his brother. The guests at the feast surrounding them ensured that he would not be harmed, still, at the mention of (y/n), the hairs on his back to prickle like a spooked cat.   
“Don’t talk about her,” he said, “she hates you.”   
Maron laughed at Theon and took a sip of his wine.   
“I don’t know about that,” he said, “have you seen the way she looks at me? Just look at her now, teasing me.”   
Theon turned his attention back to you, dancing with some man twice your age. A smile on your face as you spun around to the music, your feet rhythmically moving to the music. You caught his eyes and flashed him a toothy smile, two teeth on the bottom row were missing, and the juxtaposition of baby teeth mixed with adult teeth made sure your mouth looked like it was crammed with shards of jagged rock, and yet, Maron was right, you were still pretty...no, you weren’t pretty, you were beautiful.   
“She’s not looking at you, she’s looking at me,” Theon said.   
Maron laughed, “oh Theon, she wants...no, needs a real man,” he said, “perhaps I should take her to my room and show her what a real man is like…”   
Without even thinking, Theon had launched himself at his brother, tackling him off of his chair and throwing them both to the ground where he began punching and hitting his older brother as hard as he could. All eyes in the room where drawn to the two brawling princes, including yours, and the music cut to an abrupt stop as servants and guards rushed over to seperate them, practically ripping Theon away from his brother, who had suffered a bloody nose and a black eye from the brawl.   
The guard held Theon back from his brother by his arms while a servant crouched beside Maron and inspected his wounds.   
And all Maron did was laugh. 

Bringing your fist up once again, you knocked hard on Theon’s bedchamber door.   
“Theon, please, open up and stop being childish,” you called, only to be met with no answer.   
You’d been at it for nearly five minutes and not once had you received even the slightest amount of acknowledgement, how were you supposed to come to terms with marrying a man if you never even got the chance to speak it over with him?   
You were about to knock again when you heard a servant speak.   
“He’s not there, m’lady,” the boy said.   
You turned to him, “where is he?”   
The boy shrugged, “last I heard he was down at the beach,” he said, “said he needed to clear his mind.”   
You nodded and thanked the boy before you left the castle and made your trek to the beach.   
When you and Theon were little, you’d spend hours at a time playing in the water, building castles out of sand, and looking for treasure. There had even been times when you’d play Lord and Lady, and the two of you would pretend to be the occupants of some cave, where titles didn’t exist and nothing mattered.   
Oh how you longed for those times.   
Climbing down the jagged rocks, you finally laid your eyes on our betrothed.   
He was impossible to miss, the only occupant of the beach, he stuck out like a golden coin in a starving man’s pouch. He was sitting, looking out at the ocean, but not daring to go near it, as if he were afraid it would swallow him whole if he were to get one drop on him.   
You made your way over to him and took a seat next to him, he didn’t bother to look at you as you sat down, he just continued to stare out at sea.   
The silence between the two of you was, surprisingly, not awkward, the calm lapping of the ocean and the crying of a gull somewhere nearby made up for the lack of words between the two of you.   
It was Theon who spoke first.   
“You heard?” he asked.   
You nodded, “Asha and Tris told me.”   
Theon responded with a nod of his own, and the silence between the two of you returned.   
After a few more moments of silence, you spoke next.   
“Is it to always be this way?” you asked, “are we to be strangers even when we’re wed?”   
Theon turned to look at you, his familiar eyes piercing your soul.   
“I don’t know,” he said, “I assume that’s up to us.”   
You swallowed and broke the gaze, not knowing how to respond, luckily, you didn’t have to, for Theon spoke again a few moments later.   
“Know this,” he said, “even if we are to despise one another until the end of our days, I will still be loyal to any children this union produces, no matter what.”   
His words struck deep with you. You had not even thought so far ahead into the realm of children, but suddenly, the reality of the situation dawned upon you.   
You and Theon were to be married.   
It had been a dream of yours as a child. For you and your best friend to be bonded together forever in life and death, to love one another for all of eternity and to parent one another’s children. But these dream had crumbled away to nothingness by now, and where now nothing more than a pile of dust.   
The reality came into view clearly. You and Theon would marry, and once you bore him a child and he tired of you, he would take his salt-wife, the true wife of his heart, and you would be relegated to nothing more than a supporting role, the child the only evidence of the bond you once shared.   
Silent tears dripped down your cheeks and were frozen by the salty breeze.   
“Perhaps we can make something better than the both of us,” Theon said, noticing your tears and trying to soothe them, “maybe our child can be better of us.”   
You looked over at him, his body relaxed, his hand hovering halfway from touching you and not. He looked almost apologetic, and for a moment, you could see the old boy he had once been peeking through.  
“I suppose you’re not the worst person I could be with,” you said.   
Theon’s mouth opened and curled in slight shock at your comment, and he let out an amused huff of air that you took as a laugh, and suddenly, the two of you were laughing together, a sidesplitting laughter like you’d just heard the best joke in the world.   
And for a while, it was as if nothing had changed, and the world was blissfully the same as it had always been.


	9. The Kraken and the Eagle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and the Reader bond over their upcoming nuptials.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you enjoy this chapter! Please leave a like and comment your thoughts down below, also don't forget to bookmark for updates when I post next!

The betrothal of you to Theon Greyjoy was announced just three days after it had been decided, yet the response from those, both citizens and other nobles, was lackluster. Everyone was seemingly aware of the purpose of the engagement, to give Theon a tie to the Iron Islands, to give Balon another commander, and to elevate your family’s status at the cost of your hand to the Prince of the Pyke.   
You had been trying to see the positives of the arrangement- what few they were.   
After your conversation at the beach, you and Theon had spent almost no time together, he was holed up either in his room or in council meetings, and you were busy being roped into wedding planning.   
As a little girl, you had often dreamt of your wedding. Of the simple, white gown you would dawn. Of the ornate bridal crown that would be placed atop your braided hair. Of the salty ocean water soaking you thoroughly and sticking your dress and hair to your body as the Drowned Man pushed you underneath the waves and rebirthed you; changing you from maiden to woman.   
But mostly, you had dreamed of your groom. The man awaiting you eagerly from where he stood, knee deep in the surf, watching as your father led you down the sandy shore and releasing you into the water.   
Strangely though, however, of all your dreaming and fantasizing, you could never put a face to that man.   
You’d once read a story of a girl who dreamt every night of her wedding to a handsome man who she had never met and the young maiden simply brushed them off as dreams until one day a prince came to her shore and, enraptured by her beauty, decided to take her for a wife, and the maiden realized that he was the very same man she had been dreaming about all these years.   
Oh how you wished some god would give you a sign of who you were destined to be happily ever after with, stories always made love and marriage so seemingly simple when in fact the reality of it was that it was just as hard as everything else in life.   
Stories, you found, had a habit of glossing over the hard, difficult parts and skipping straight away to the gratifying ending.   
Like the story of the maiden and her groom, it never showed how boring and tedious planning a wedding would actually be, it just skipped ahead to the part with the dress and flowers and then to the babies and the happy bliss that came with life and then it ended.   
You envied those characters.   
Somehow, in the midst of discussing dress style and bridal crowns, you managed to slip away from the army of aunts and cousins your mother and Alannys Greyjoy had enlisted to prepare for the day, and now you were stowed away in the stables, nibbling on a still-warm piece of bread you had swiped from the kitchens when you were passing through.   
“They’re looking for you, you know that right?,” the voice of your soon-to-be husband spoke from behind you.   
Turning around you shrugged, “let them look,” you said, “I’d rather die than hear one more tale from my aunts about their wedding nights.”   
Theon laughed and took a seat next to you on a barrel, “can’t be that bad,” he said.   
“It is!” you protested, “and none of them are even bothering to take my advice into consideration! Not about the dress, not about the celebration afterwards, hell, they’re even ignoring my ideas about the food for the feast and the music! It’s infuriating!”   
Theon laughed again, it wasn’t like the laugh he had first given when you and Asha had met him at Lordsport, rather this one seemed...more genuine than the other had been. It wasn’t aggressive and mischievous as the one he’d arrived with had been, but softer and more engaging, this laugh was the kind that made you want to keep speaking, while the other laugh made you question the man’s motivations.   
Suddenly, restless, you stood and walked over to one of the horses still in its stall.   
“What are you doing?” Theon asked.   
“Trying to prevent myself from going mad,” you replied, “I need to get out of this castle.”   
“Oh, and where do you suppose you’ll go?”   
You shrugged, “I dunno, how about Lordsport? I remember something about you wanting to visit their marketplace.”   
“I never said that, I asked if you wanted to go to the market and you said no,” Theon retorted.   
“Well, now I’m saying yes,” you said, placing a saddle and reins onto your horse, “whether you plan on coming or not is your decision.”   
“Oh, so I’m invited?”   
“I never said you weren’t!” you said lightly, “bloody hell, if this is what our marriage is going to be I may as well just toss myself into the sea now!”   
To your surprise, Theon laughed at this, the joke had been a risky one to make considering the circumstances prior to your betrothal, but now it seemed as if the two of you were almost comfortable with one another, like you were...friends?  
“Not if I do it first,” Theon said, rising and beginning to ready his own horse, “perhaps I’ll just take one of my father’s boats and sail far far away.”   
“You could always go back to the Stark boy,” you said, the words leaving your mouth before you had time to think them through, turning back, you saw Theon wince slightly before swallowing whatever pain had become lumped in his throat and speaking.   
“I’m not going back to Robb,” he said, darkly, “he sent me away.”   
“I’m sorry, Theon,” you said, “I didn’t mean…”   
“I know,” he said, cutting you off, “let’s just get on with the ride, yeah?”   
You felt pity for the man before you, you had obviously dragged up some unwelcome feelings for the Starks, whatever they may be, inside of him. It was hard to remember that, while you hated the Starks and viewed them as the monsters who had stolen your best friend away, he still saw them as humans, and why wouldn’t he? They had had him longer than Balon did, longer than you did.   
But then again, he wasn’t something to be owned.  
You and Theon finished up with the horses and the two of you mounted and began riding.   
While normally you saw no greater torture than being dragged through the market of Lordsport, you were genuinely interested in the lives of people outside of the palace, and sometimes it wasn’t so bad. The smell of fish would dissipate and the bustling crowd would dissipate, once you’d found a seller of books from Braavos and spent the afternoon talking to him while another time you’d bought a purple amethyst jewel and a spinning ring from a woman. There were other things as well there, baubles and trinkets that no one really needed, but from time to time, it was fun to just wander about the place and see what you may find.   
A little further from the market, you and Theon left the horses at a stable, paying the stable hands handsomely for special care for the animals, and you and Theon walked the rest of the way to the town square.   
You hadn’t spoken to each other much since first leaving the stables, yet now, you figured, was the perfect opportunity to redeem yourself.   
“So,” you said, “do they have markets like this back in the North?”   
Theon nodded, “a few,” he said, “none with the scent of this one, however, I can smell the fish from here!”  
You giggled, “oh please, stop being so dramatic!”   
“I’m not, it stinks!”   
“What did you expect? You arrived at Lordsport first, surely you would have smelled it then.”   
“Not this bad, the wind is blowing it directly in my face, it’s like I can taste it.”   
Laughing, the two of you finally made it to the market and stepped into the crowd full of pushing and shoving patrons all running from stall to stall.   
“Remember to keep your purse in your hand or around your wrist,” you said, “pickpockets.”   
Theon nodded and slipped the velvet string tied to his bag around his wrist and gripped the black cloth with his hand. In your haste, you had forgotten to grab any money, though it didn’t matter as you probably weren’t going to buy anything anyway.   
Walking through the streets there wasn’t much time to speak, which suited the two of you just fine. You stopped at stalls whenever they managed to draw your attention, with you not being big on leaving the castle and Theon having only arrived to no fanfare, there weren’t many people wishing to stop or bow and speak to the two of you like it was when you left with Asha or others, rather the two of you seemed to just blend in, despite Theon’s finely made leather and your nicely sewn dress.   
Theon made you stop at a stall selling ale and cakes after a while, he bought himself a mug and you a powdered cake with strawberry jam inside, and the two of you sat in a crowded table in the square, finding to seats together and taking them before anyone else could.   
“Lucky we found two,” Theon said, “or else you may have had to sit on my lap.”   
You blushed.   
Suddenly, two women in flowing blue saffron caught your attention, they were giggling and pointing to Theon with hungry looks in their eyes. Their dresses left little to the imagination and you knew who they were instantly, not by name, of course, but by profession.   
They were whores, and, by the looks of it, whores who were hopeful for the advances of the prince you sat with at the moment.   
Theon followed your gaze and turned to meet the women, they waved to him and he waved back, sending them into another fit, they tried to draw him over, but he looked back to you with an expression of either weariness or apology. The whores, dejected, turned and walked out from view.   
Of course he would want those girls, you thought, how stupid are you to think of yourself as special, you’ve only just met the man and you’re just his betrothed, he can still take a salt wife if he’d want one, he doesn’t belong to you.   
At the mention of a salt wife you tasted bile in the back to your throat.   
Salt Wives, by popular opinion, were somehow both lesser and more than true wives, for, while they held little position and power, they still owned the heart and desires of their husband. Their had been tales of men disregarding their legitimate wife and children and choosing their bastards to be their heirs, there were stories of a man refusing to touch his wife but having multiple heirs with his salt wife. The life of a true wife had been what you were doomed to at birth, being a noble and all, but it had never seemed like a blessing to you.   
“You don’t have to do that,” you spoke, “I know the culture, I know you’ll want to take a salt wife, all I ask is that you don’t resent me for our union, and that, if you do, you don’t take it out on our children.”   
Theon looked at you, “I could never resent you, (y/n),” he said, “but I promise.”   
You smiled at the sentiment and impulsively gripped his hand, “thank you,” you said.   
Theon smiled back at you before downing the rest of his ale and you stuffed the remainder of the cake and the two of you stood and left the hall, returning to the market and walking through the stands.   
As you wandered, the a stand bearing the Greyjoy sigil and the crest of your family, a stormy, grey eagle over the blue ocean, on his stand. Diverting your course, you approached the stand with Theon trailing behind you.   
Greeting the seller, you appraised the items being sold. They were all finely carved wooden pieces, some krakens, some eagles, but mainly they were beaked krakens with wings.   
A cross between the two houses.   
“How much for one of these?” Theon asked flashing the winged kraken.   
“Ten bronze pieces,” the man said.   
Theon tossed him a gold coin and took a second which he handed to you.   
“It appears not everyone sees our marriage as such a travesty,” he murmured.


	10. A Kiss of Sea...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TIME FOR A WEDDING!!!!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG you guys are some of the best reader out there! I just wanna let you know how thankful I am for each and every one of you! I hope you enjoy this chapter please leave a like and comment your thoughts down below also feel free to bookmark for updates when I post next! <3

The preparations started at dawn. As soon as the sun had rose in the sky, so had your mother, sisters, and posse of aunts and cousins, all rushing to your door, rousing you from your sleep, and whisking you to and fro, giggling and gossiping the whole way about what the day would hold, barely giving you anytime to speak even though it was supposed to be a day centered around you, for today was the day you would wed the last Prince of the Iron Islands.   
Today is the day you turned from a simple lady, into a Princess.   
The day started with your two sisters, Meena and Jora, entering your room singing and screeching their excitement. You had been thankful then that they’d removed you from the room you shared with your fellow ladies and into a separate one near Lady Alannys.   
Meena was older than you, married off already and within the early stages of pregnancy with her first child. Yet, though she claimed maturity over you, that did nothing to lessen her excitement, which nearly rivaled that of Jora, your younger sister who had been born following the rebellion and had remained blissfully ignorant to any hardships that befell prior to then. She had remained at your family’s castle in Harlaw for most of her childhood, but now your parents had decided to bring her to Pyke as a replacement for you in Asha’s service.   
With you fully roused, the girls set to work on making you up, taking a mixture of dyed chalk and water to cover any blemishes or dark circles on your face, then lining your eyes with kohl and decorating it with pale pink pigment made from roses. They used the same rose-powder on your cheeks and painted your lips with red berries in the end making you look slightly flushed and done up.   
It was only after this, when the sun had risen by now, your mother and a posse of aunts entered and set to work on your hair, braiding sections into an elaborate style that hung down your back, one aunt suggested taking horse hair and using it to lengthen the appearance but that idea was quickly dashed away.   
Finally, it was time for the dress a simple, long sleeved, white dress that flowed past your feet and toward the floor. There were two layers of sleeves, one which clung to you and another that billowed out, some lace work had been done on the bust and waist, but not much, emphasis was not put much on the dress, rather, it went to the bridal crown.   
Meena produced the bridal crown, as she was the last one to marry, she was the one to hold it until the next ceremony, and presented it to you. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, made for your great-great grandmother’s wedding to your great-great grandfather. Twisting metal made to look like vines wrapped around the base of the crown while jewels of all kinds, garnets, amethyst, pearls, a sapphire and an emerald, lay like flowers atop the vines, it was the most beautiful and precious thing your family owned, and now it would be bestowed to you.   
Laying it atop your head, the crown completed your ensemble, and your mob of family sighed at the sight, some, including your mother, brushing away tears from their eyes and cheeks. Looking in the mirror, it was hard to contain your own emotions, you looked stunning and regal, every inch a queen.   
A knock sounded at your door and your mother quickly went to answer it, Asha entered the room and stopped in her tracks once she caught sight of you.   
“May I have a moment alone with my good-sister?” Asha asked.   
Politely, your family relented, Jora and Meena hugging you and your mother placing a kiss on your forehead before they filed out, probably going to the beach where the ceremony was to take place in little less than half an hour.   
Silence enveloped the room for a moment before Asha spoke again.   
“You look beautiful, (y/n),” she said.   
You smiled at her, “thank you,” you said.   
The two of you took a seat at the small table sitting in the corner of your room next to the window. Outside, you could see the crowd that was beginning to gather, you thought you could spot Theon’s dark hair among them, but that may have been your imagination.   
“(Y/n),” Asha’s voice cut through, “are you listening?”   
You hadn’t even realized she’d been speaking.   
“Sorry,” you said.   
Asha sighed, “I said you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”   
You rolled your eyes, “it’s a little late for anything else, Ash,” you said.   
“I have a ship,” Asha said, “I’ll stow you away, Tris has agreed to help, and we’ll just sail away and hide you out somewhere…”   
“So I can do what? Spend my life as a beggar or a fugitive, waiting for you and Tris to return, though you never will?” you shouted, frustration building in your chest.   
“You know that’s not true,” Asha protested and you let out a mirthless laugh.   
“It is, Ash,” you said, “Tris will marry, he’ll have children, he’ll be lord of Lordsport, and you’ll be queen of the Iron Islands…”   
“Not if you marry Theon,” she said.   
And her words hit harder than a slap in the face.   
“Is that why you’re here?” you asked, “to try and get me to leave so you can be queen?”   
Asha rolled her eyes at you, “don’t be stupid, I just don’t want to see you married to a pig.”   
A bitterness filled you and you had to avert your eyes before you acted on your growing urge to shout at her.   
“Thank you for your concern,” you said, softly, “but I’m afraid you’re concern is misplaced.”   
“Don’t do that with me,” she said, “go all proper and stiff…”   
“Please leave,” you said, standing, “I have to prepare for my wedding.”   
Asha stomped toward the door, “it looks like you already are, sister,” she said bitterly.   
And like that, she was gone. 

He stood next to his uncle, the sea reaching up to his knees, soaking his trousers and sending chills up his spine. A soft wind blew, and the ever present, grey skies remained, but he couldn’t stop the feeling that it was a beautiful day. A crowd had gathered before him, he could see (y/n)’s older sister, Meena, he thinks her name is, and some lord he didn’t recognize. Her mother had a young girl clinging to her and he wondered if she’d possibly had another child after he left.   
It hit him then just how little he knew about her life after he’d left.   
As if he thought that a pause button could simply have been pressed and everything would have ceased until he returned.   
A sense of panic came over him then, just as the doors to the caste before him opened, and footsteps sounded as feet touched stone that would turn to sand beneath them in moments.   
Then she was there, just yards away, her father with his arm interlocked with hers.   
She’s beautiful, he realized.  
And suddenly, all that fear melted away. 

Alannys Greyjoy gazed down upon the two sleeping babies in the cradle, one red faced and wrinkled, a newborn fresh out of her mother’s womb that morning; the other chubby cheeked with a mop of black hair on his head.   
The second child was Alannys’ own son, born six weeks prior. Out of all four of Alannys’ children, this one, her little Theon, was the gentlest and sweetest, smiling every time his eyes met hers, snuggling into her chest when she held him in her arms, he was so unlike her other children, even Asha.   
He was her most precious gift.   
And then there was (y/n), the daughter of her best friend, her lady, who was currently sound asleep in her bed, exhausted both mentally and physically from such a long delivery. Yet from the moment the midwife swished her hand around her mouth and those first beautiful cries escaped her, she knew it had all been worth it.   
A slight whimper escaped her son, catching Alannys’ attention. She turned quickly, ready to soothe her boy, but it seemed that she would not have to, because before she was able to scoop her child into her arms, the little girl next to him snuggled in closer to him, seemingly not disturbed, and cuddled him herself.   
And sitting there, watching them together, Alannys knew not heaven, nor hell could separate them. 

They were halfway towards him now, her hands shook as she approached. In the crowd, she spotted her sisters and mother crying, her aunts staring at her wistfully, and a plethora of other family members with similar reactions. On Theon’s side, she saw only coldness, save for his mother, who smiled brilliantly.   
Then you turned to Theon, your soon-to-be husband.   
He was handsome, dressed well in simple black trousers, a white undershirt, and a black doublet, armor adorned with a kraken sat atop his chest. His hair had been tamed and the stubble that had started to grow at his chin had been shaved away.   
It’s him, you thought as you took your first step into the ocean, you’d gotten your best friend back. 

The surf was up to her knees now, her dress bubbling up, then clinging to her legs and sinking beneath the waves. Her father stood back on the shore, letting her glide into the surf alone. She stopped once she stood across from him and on the right of his uncle.   
He was finally able to see her up close, and she was even more stunning than he had previously anticipated, her face was painted, but not in the way that the whores did, hers was tasteful, with none of the colorful flamboyance or struggle to hide imperfections. Rather than creating a mask, they enhanced what was already there.   
She gave him a smile as his uncle Aeron began the sermon.   
“We speak in the presence of the Drowned God,” Aeron began, “in his name we gather today to see to the union of the Lady (y/f/n) (y/l/n) and the Prince Theon Greyjoy.”   
The crowd remained silent, the weight of the words settling in Theon’s chest and he took a deep breath to steady himself. This is happening, he thought to himself, I’m marrying her.   
And now, that didn’t seem like such a curse. 

“Prince Theon, do you take this Lady and promise to make her an honest and true wife?” Damphair asked.   
Theon nodded, “I do,” he said.   
“Do you promise to protect both her body and name?”   
“I do.”   
“Do your promise to provide for her and whatever children your union will bring, from this day until your last?”   
“I do.”   
“Do you make these promises before the Drowned God himself, renouncing all other gods but himself?”   
“I do,” Theon said.   
Aeron Greyjoy then turned and cast his stony, cold gaze on you.   
“Lady (y/f/n), do you take this man and promise to be an honest and true wife?”   
Swallowing you turned your gaze away from Theon and towards the frothy sea you stood in. Holding your head up high you locked eyes with Theon and smiled.   
“I do,” you said, the words rolling off your tongue as easy as water.   
“Do you promise to be loyal and faithful?”   
“I do.”   
“Do you promise to be loving and obedient towards your husband from this day until your last?”   
“I do.”   
“Do you make these promises before the Drowned God himself, renouncing all other gods but himself?”  
“I do.”   
Aeron nodded, “then let it be known that on this day the Prince Theon and Lady (y/f/n) were reborn as husband and wife in the eyes of you and the Drowned God himself.”   
The Damphair placed his hands on both your own and Theon’s heads, then, pushing, held both you and Theon down beneath the waves. 

The salty sea water entered his nose and stung his eyes. He was already beginning to feel a strain on his lungs, but he didn’t panic. Across from him, he could see (y/n), barely, but enough to know that she were there.   
The wedding crown still glistened despite the water obscuring the direct sunlight, hair braided around the crown keeping it attached to her head, her skirt was floating by her knees, her hands the only thing pressing it down to save her modesty. Her eyes were closed in a vain attempt to keep the salt from burning you.   
It was like she were a dream, he just wanted to reach out and touch her, to make sure that she wouldn’t float away never to be seen again.   
As if she could sense his starring, she opened her eyes and they met Theon’s.   
Suddenly, the pressure left his head and he was being pulled up above the water, as was she, and once the two of you broke the surface and let out gasping breaths, the crowd erupted into cheers.   
She began to stumble and Theon grasped her to keep her standing.   
She was a mess of smeared makeup and clumps of wet hair, but she was still the most beautiful thing in the world. 

Rising from the water, you took a gasping breath and stumbled trying to right yourself, suddenly, Theon’s arms were wrapped around you, keeping you stable as the cheers of the crowd swelled.   
You turned and looked into your husband’s eyes, his ever present smile gone, instead replaced by an awed expression that left you cold.   
And then his lips pressed against yours.


	11. ...A Bite of Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and The Reader are now married, now it is time for the wedding night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! Please leave your thoughts down below and also feel free to bookmark for updates when I post next!

You hadn’t even had the chance to say two words to Theon, because as soon as the two of you broke apart, he began leading you over to the shore where your family and fellow ladies immediately descended upon you like vultures, pulling you away from Theon and ushering you inside and up to your bedchambers, chattering all the way, you only catching bits and pieces of what they were saying.   
Once in your room they began to unwind your hair from the crown and run you a bath, pouring in special salts that smelled of lavender and rose. They peeled off your soaking gown and helped you sink into the warm water, scrubbing and washing your body and hair, brushing it out, and then re-braiding it.   
They then redid your makeup and dressed you in a black and gold gown with gold and obsidian jewelry and a wooden and black pearl crown instead of your family one, which was sealed back in its box and placed in your wardrobe for your own daughter’s weddings and Jora.   
You watched as   
By the time they had finished, you could already hear the cheers and music lilting up through the floorboards from the dining hall.   
The posse left, once again, and you were left to wait for Theon to come and escort you to the reception. It was mandatory that the bride and groom entered together last after everyone had arrived and settled.   
With all the excitement of the day you hadn’t even had time to process your fight with Asha before now, and it stirred a sick feeling in your stomach. The idea of seeing her at dinner, sat at your table, was almost too much to bear. Why was it when you were finally sisters did your friendship dissolve?   
You examined yourself in the mirror, the colors of House Greyjoy a stark contrast from the pale white you’d been wearing earlier that morning. The events of the morning still didn’t feel real, no matter how much you kept saying it, you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you were now a married woman, a princess even.   
(Y/n) Greyjoy.   
The name sounded funny to you, like it didn’t fully belong.   
Suddenly, on your divian, you were drawn to a small chunk of wood sitting atop the surface, it was the winged kraken. You vaguely remembered Jora messing with it while you were having your makeup done, she must have forgotten to put it back, but you were glad she had.   
Pinning it to the right of your breast, you were startled when the door knocked.   
Hurrying, you opened the door only to see Theon standing before you. He’d changed too, his soaked clothes changed and his hair slightly mussed, but otherwise he was exactly how he had been that morning, exactly how he’d been everyday since his arrival. But for some reason now, he took your breath away.   
“Are you ready?” he asked.   
You nodded.   
Theon outstretched his arm and looped it with yours.   
“Let’s do this.” 

The feast was a blur of laughter and music and food and drink, the smells of roasted meats and fish had been replaced by the sweeter scents of fruit and cream and sugar wafting through the air, mulled wine and ale following soon after. Next to Theon sat (y/n), his wife, the title still felt unnatural, but a welcome sort of unnatural, the kind that sent flutters through his heart and made his face break out into a grin.   
He spared a glance at her, her cheeks flush with wine and her pupils wide. Some sweat clung to her brow from when they had been dancing earlier, the memory of it making him smile even wider. He had attended plenty of dances at Winterfell and he’d danced with countless women, but none of them quite like (y/n), because when she danced, it was like she was lightweight and carefree, like she didn’t fully know the steps, but didn’t care at all. Dancing with her was fun and free, more like a game than a proper set of steps.   
The song currently being played ended abruptly when the clock suddenly struck midnight, and all went silent until it finished its hollow ringing.   
From the corner of his eye, he saw (y/n) tense, it was time.   
As soon as the last ring dissipated the crowd practically descended upon them, Theon’s uncle Victarion taking the lead and swinging (y/n) over his shoulders like she were a sack, the crowd laughed as (y/n) let out a surprised sound and the other men rushed quickly to his uncle’s side and helped to carry her out of the room, his sister’s friend, Tristifer, rushing out with them sending a pang of jealousy through Theon. At the same time, the women came upon him, pulled him out of his chair and shoving him out the door, giggling and cheering the whole time, Theon laughed with them but it was half hearted, he had never before thought much of this ritual, but now, seeing how they treated her, the girl who had been his world for so long, made his skin crawl and his blood boil.   
They left him alone in his room where servants came and helped him dress and ready for bed. He was then led down the corridor and into the grand rooms that were to be his marital chambers.   
(Y/n) had arrived earlier than him, sitting stiffly and awkwardly on the bed, her makeup gone, her hair hanging loosely, slightly curled from the numerous braids. She was clothed only in her gauzy white nightgown, the curves of her body hidden beneath the silk taunting him like she was a present ready to unwrap. 

Your face relaxed when you saw him and he made his way over to the bed.   
“Are you alright?” he asked.   
You nodded, his concern making butterflies soar in your stomach, “I knew it was going to happen, Tris made sure no one did anything to harm me.”   
You thought back to how Tris had practically been ready to fight any man that thought of undressing you, ushering them out to make way for the ladies. You had heard tales of how, in the old days, the men were the ones to undress the bride and present her to the groom and, while the Iron Islands was extremely traditional, this was one that had seemingly failed to survive into today.   
You thanked god for that.   
Theon let out a breath, “that’s good.”   
You nodded again and an awkward silence filled the room as neither of you knew how to broach the topic of what you were there to do.   
“So,” he spoke first, “we’re married.”   
“We are.”   
Another awkward silence.   
“I imagine you know what we’re here to do,” Theon said.   
You gave a little chuckle at that, “I’m not an idiot, I wasn’t raised under a rock.”   
Theon smiled, “I suppose not,” he said, “but have you...done anything like this before?”   
Suddenly very shy, you turned your gaze downward and shook your head, “no,” you whispered, “I was saving myself.”   
“For who?” Theon asked.   
Heat rose higher into you like a fire up a chimney, “the right person,” you said.  
It was then that you became aware of how very close Theon was to you, his knee just a few inches from hers, his hand even closer, like you could just flick out your little finger and be touching his knuckles.   
Looking up, you were met with his soft, concerned face, his eyes open and a somewhat worried look glazing them over.   
“And now?” he asked.   
“What?” you replied.   
“Have you found the right person now? With me?” he specified.   
You swore your heart stopped for a moment.   
“I-I...don’t know yet,” you said, and the sad dejected look that came upon him like a dark cloud in the sky practically made your heart rip in two.   
He turned his gaze downward and bit his lip, that false smile appeared again.   
Gently, you touched his chin and turned his eyes back upward to meet yours, it was such a tender moment that for a second it was almost like you were two children again, and you were doing nothing more than examining a bruise or scrape given to him by his brothers.   
And it hit you, if the rebellion hadn’t happened, if Maron still lived, your wedding night would have been very different, and you realized that you never could have shared this with Maron or any other man, what you and Theon had had been forged as children. It was like one of those rare times when snow and frost glazed the rocks of Pyke, when frozen icicles dripped from sharp edges, only to be broken off late in the day and the water to drip down again and refreeze overnight into something not quite the same, but a welcome difference.   
“I can try,” you whispered.   
And all was still for a moment until Theon leaned closer and pressed his lips tenderly to yours.   
His lips were soft and tasted like ale, and a tiny electric buzz went through you at his touch.   
When you finally pulled apart, you knew your eyes were wider than the moon, your mouth opened in a shocked but wanting expression.   
“Theon…” you breathed, and suddenly he was upon you.   
Your lips crashing into each other like waves, his tongue slipping into your mouth, the taste of ale overwhelming but now mingling with blueberries and strawberries from your own mouth. His hands travelled down your body and encircled your waist, pulling you closer to him while you, impulsively, ran your hands through his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft locks.   
Theon’s mouth travelled downward, his lips sucking on your neck, his teeth nibbling lightly on your flesh in a way that almost tickled.   
“Theon…” you breathed again, this time more of a moan, “Theon, please.”   
Instinct took over and Theon broke apart briefly, shoving you down onto your back, your shoulders hitting the soft pillow behind you, your hair fanning out around you.   
Breathing heavily, he paused atop you, his fingers lightly tracing the lace securing the fabric around your breasts. It was only then that you realized how heavy your breathing had become.   
“(Y/n),” he said, “are you sure?”  
Looking up at him, you realized something had changed. Above you was not your childhood friend, above you was not the man you had met in Lordsport that day. The man above you was the prince with no face from your dreams. And suddenly, you became aware of how many signs there were. The rose, the thousands of games of lord and lady, the tender touches and snuggles beneath covers of his bed.  
For someone who claimed to be so smart and learned, you were astonished by how ignorant and dumb you were.   
How had you not realized that you had been in love with Theon Greyjoy since you were children?   
Below him, you nodded.   
A simple “yes” leaving your lips.


	12. Misgivings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the morning sun rises the reality of your marriage to Theon sets in for both you and him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I have some super exciting news, I GOT ACCEPTED TO MY NUMBER ONE COLLEGE!!!!!!!!!!! So I am super happy and that combined with upcoming Christmas just makes my days even better! So here's a new chapter that I hope you all enjoy! Please leave kudos and comment your thoughts down below!

Winterfell was nothing like Pyke.   
Everywhere he went, someone, or something, was always watching him. Whether it be the Lady Catelyn or some ancient ghost, it didn’t matter, neither of them looked upon him with warmth or kindness, just cold indifference. Everything about Winterfell was cold, and strange.  
Even their gods were strange.   
Faces, carved into trees with red sap pouring from the eyes like bloody tears. The mouths carved open like a silent scream.   
These were not his gods.   
And this was not his home.   
The only peace that Theon ever found was in his dreams.   
He would lay in bed, the sea within him leaking out through his eyes and dripping onto the foreign sheets lining the foreign bed, in the foreign room that those foreign people who had killed his brothers expected him to call home. He would have a hand over his mouth to keep from letting the boys in the room next door from hearing him.   
Smile, he would hear, you have to smile and they’ll leave you alone, act like it’s all one big joke.   
But there was no one here to act for, no one but himself and these foreign walls. A sense of incredible loneliness would seep into him, like a leech sucking any joy or happiness or comfort from him.   
And, just as that terrible loneliness was about to take root and finish him, the door would creak open, and Theon would feel the bed on one side dip, and then arms would encircle him and a face that he knew too well would press itself into his back as if saying “I’m here, don’t cry.”   
He would turn himself around and see (y/n) laying there in her night clothes, her familiar face a comfort in the unknown world he had been placed in.   
Neither of them would speak, instead he would curl himself up and cuddle close to her, allowing her to wrap herself around him like a turtle shell, protecting him from anything that might do him harm, and for a while, Theon Greyjoy would believe that maybe Winterfell wasn’t so bad, maybe it could be his home.   
And then he would wake up and she would be gone. 

Theon was the first to wake in the morning, forgetting his surroundings and situation at first, but then looking over at the sleeping form of the girl next to him and feeling a warmth rush through his entire body.   
He had forgotten what she had looked like in this state, so relaxed and peaceful, her lips parted just slightly, her hair tangled and tousled atop her head in what their mothers had once referred to as “a wild bird’s nest.”   
The memories of last night raced through him, he could still feel her, taste the sweet and sticky strawberry tart on her lips, and smell the hint of lavender bath salts on her skin. Visually, he had left his mark on her as well, bruises dotted her neck and breasts, and her lips still looked slightly swollen. He took a sense of pride in knowing that he was the cause of it, marks left out of love instead of…  
He paused, tracing back his thoughts, the word “love” standing out in red. Did he really....no, he told himself, no, he didn’t, he couldn’t. He’d had hundreds of women, kissed a thousand more, and yet not once had he ever experienced any feelings like this.   
Love.   
The Ironborn weren’t supposed to love their wives. They were supposed to be reavers and pillagers, they were supposed to be sea people, sailing from one rock to another, taking the women for themselves, love was nothing to them, wives were nothing to them, she was nothing to him...she had to be.   
His father did this on purpose, he thought, he had wanted to prove for the longest time that his son was no Ironman, and what better way to do that than give him a bride and make him fall in love with her...better yet, give him his childhood friend, let her stab his heart and mend the stitches herself only for him to rip him open once more.   
It was a trick, he realized, his father had promised him a command, a ship, a crew, a purpose, a place in his family and never actually intended on delivering.   
The pain Theon felt was immense, the betrayal casting a dark shadow over everything, the sunbeam, which pushed through the glass on the window and illuminated his sleeping bride like she were a goddess herself, was dulled. Everything became muted, and then it glowed a bright, hot red and Theon found he could no longer stand to be in the vicinity of her, like every second he was there he was a bigger and bigger disappointment to his father.   
Pushing the covers off himself, Theon rose and climbed out of bed, grabbing the clothes he had discarded on the floor in the night and pulling them on.   
In his haste, he hadn’t been careful, because (y/n) awoke groggily, stretching out her arm to the other side of the bed, desperate to feel his warmth and wrap herself inside of him, but instead being met with an empty and cold fist of sheets.   
Sitting up lazily, her eyes squinted as she looked at him.   
“Theon?” she asked, her morning voice gravelly, “what are you doing?”   
He stood up and began tugging on his trousers, “what does it look like I’m doing?”   
She wiped the sleep from her eyes and let out a yawn before flinging herself down ungracefully onto the mattress and burying her face into a pillow.   
“Please just come back to bed,” she asked, “just for a little while longer.”   
“I can’t,” he said, hesitating slightly and cursing himself for it, “I can’t,” he said stronger.   
She sat up again, confused, “why not?”   
Theon looked at her, her eyes held a gleam in them, her face a disappointed but slightly playful look, and he knew what he had to do.   
He had to break the stitches on his heart himself.   
He let out a sharp bark of laughter as he pulled himself up from the bed and walked to the mirror to smooth out any imperfections in his hair as well as look away from her.   
“I’m leaving,” he said.   
She paused, taken aback, “what?”   
The surprise and hurt in her voice pained him worse than any stab wound.   
“My father promised me a command if I married you,” he said nonchalantly, “I thought you knew that.”   
She was silent again, “what?”   
He rounded on her with a surprising anger, “can’t you say anything else but ‘what’ you stupid girl?”   
She flinched as if he’d slapped her.   
“But what about everything you said before?” she asked, “what about what you told me in the market, that you’d promised to always be loving and kind and...last night…”   
Another laugh escaped him, “I lied,” he said.   
She paused again, and he kept going.   
“I had to get you to marry me, it was all a lie (y/n), everything was,” he said, “how could I ever love a girl like you?”   
She was silent.   
He wished she would scream at him, throw something in his face and hit him, but she just sat there and looked down in confusion as she processed his words. When she turned her face up to look at him she was crestfallen.   
“Theon…” she begged.   
But he didn’t listen, because as soon as she opened her mouth and spoke, he knew he could not sit there and pretend, not with her, he would break and soon he would be back in her arms, begging for forgiveness.   
So he turned and walked out the door and the final stitch that held him together popped, and Theon Greyjoy began to unravel. 

The sound of the slamming door echoed through your mind for hours after he left, although you knew it had not been hours since he left, it had barely been a minute.   
You loved him, you had given yourself to him last night freely, without reservation.   
How had you been so stupid, so blind, so...willing?   
How had he done this to you?   
And you let out a sob so full of rage and grief that it cut through the morning air like a knife. 

He had marched down to his father’s meeting room and demanded his ship and station, he had beaten his father’s challenge, proved him wrong and left the girl he...well it didn’t matter now, and what had he gotten in return? A stinking ship, fifty drunkards, and a mission so beneath him it was like an insult.   
He was to raid fishing villages on the shores of the North.   
What a joke.   
He knew more about the North than any Ironman, and they demeaned him like this?   
He was fuming.   
Standing at the dock, he let out a growl of frustration as he men sailed away, joking about how he was “some prince.”   
Some man named Dagmer, another crew member of his, was readying the dingy now to sail out and meet his crew on his ship, The Sea Bitch. The entire thing sat with him wrong, he was supposed to be revered and respected, why were they still not accepting him?   
“Theon,” his sister’s voice called out to him, turning, he was met with her dark mop of hair and her confused, stony face, “what are you doing here?”   
Theon stood up taller, “I’m leaving,” he proclaimed, “father has given me a ship and I intend to go out there and make him proud.”   
“What about (y/n)?” Asha asked, “your wedding was just yesterday.”   
“You’d like that wouldn’t you,” he said, snarling at her, “don’t play dumb, I know you were trying to make me look weak, marry me to some bitch and show the world how my time with the wolves made me weak, but guess what? It didn’t work.”   
“What?” Asha asked, sounding genuinely surprised.   
Theon had to admit, his sister was a gifted actress.   
He rolled his eyes, “I don’t have time for this.”   
He turned and walked away from his sister, meeting Dagmer at the dock and climbing into the ship. Looking back, Asha was still standing where he’d left her, a shocked, confused, and somewhat angry expression on her face.  
And then Dagmer began to row, and, within a few moments, she was nothing more than a blur in the distance. 

A knock sounded at your door but you made no move to get up and greet whoever it was who had come to check on you.   
You had made quite the scene the morning Theon had left you. Collapsing onto the bed in a fit of anguish, you had sobbed for almost the entire day, becoming so dehydrated at points you passed out, refusing to eat anything at all.   
It had been one week since then and, while you had managed to stop the tears and eat small bites of food now and then, you had still yet to leave your bedroom save for the time when you relocated out of your marital suite and into your own personal room.   
How could you have been so stupid to fall for him? The very mention of your prior feelings of the man who was now your husband sent shame coursing through you.   
You had given up so much for him. Your body, your heart, your thoughts, you’d even sacrificed your friendship with Asha, and for what? For him to take it and toss it away like it was nothing?   
Idiot, you thought, you knew this would happen.   
The knock at your door sounded again, this time followed by a voice, Meena’s voice.   
“(y/n), please open up,” she begged, “I know you’re upset, but please just open the door!”   
You obliged, rising shakily to your feet and opening the door, revealing your older sister before you, immaculate before you.   
As children, you had always admired her. She had been betrothed years before you were even born, a lucky Blacktyde boy who was now off to somewhere with your own husband. When you were young, you had looked to Meena like she were a goddess incarnate, and now, that feeling was back. Her standing before you, strong and compassionate even with her own husband gone, compared to you, teary-eyed and disheveled, there was no contest.   
“I loved him, Meena,” you said meekly, “I loved him....”   
And just like that, Meena had wrapped her arms around you and pulled you into her breast where you sobbed even harder than you had when he had first left you, the rush of emotions hitting you like a slap to the face.   
“I know,” Meena whispered soothingly, “it will be alright, everything will be alright.” 

Four Weeks Later  
You knelt over your chamberpot, Meena holding your hair back as you emptied the contents of your stomach into the bowl. It had been happening all week now, the feelings of nausea and cramping, at first you had thought it just simple pains from your monthly cycles, but nothing had ever come of it.   
Finishing you collapsed into a seated position on the floor, your knees tingly and your palms pounding as the blood began to dissipate.  
After Meena had first come to you, you had started to feel better, she agreed to stay for as long as you needed her while you insisted your mother and Jora return to your family’s own home near Harlaw. Her belly had grown to a considerable size over the weeks, now allowing for her dresses to be let out and for her to begin to flaunt her new status as a future mother-to-be.   
She handed you a handkerchief and a glass of water, both of which you accepted, wiping your mouth and then taking gulps of water to help drown out the taste of vomit which still lingered in your mouth.   
“I think we need a Maester,” Meena said, “this is the third time today.”   
You shook your head, “I’m fine…”   
“You should tell yourself then,” she said, then she paused, “when was the last time you had your monthly blood?”   
“Before Theon left,” you answered truthfully, blood rushing to your cheeks.   
Meena’s face broke into a smile, “is it possible that you’re with child?”   
You nodded, “I think I am,” you said.   
And Meena rushed into your arms, and that was when realization struck you and the daunting thought came into your mind.   
You were going to be a mother to the child of Theon Greyjoy.   
The mother to a future king.  
And that terrified you.


	13. Porcelain to Ivory...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader's pregnancy becomes known and her status is raised until everything is threatened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So the next couple chapters are going to go pretty fast, I figured that if you're reading this series you know what happens to Theon and probably don't wanna sit through it again (It legit pains me to write lol) so the pregnancy and actual birth and toddler years will go by quicker than the rest. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, it's a little short but hopefully still good! Please comment and bookmark for updates when I post next!

Over the next month, more and more people became aware of your condition. There was an odd sense of power in it, for now you carried an heir to the Iron Islands, the first grandchild of King Balon. It increased your status at court even further, cementing you not only as the wife of a Prince, but the mother of his child.   
Once your condition had been determined by a Maester, you were invited to attend council meetings in which you acted in place of your husband and child, the belief being that their will carried through you. It was a ridiculous idea, but nevertheless, you agreed, more out of your own curiosity and intrigue than anything else.   
The meetings were a dull affair, usually centered around money plans and the growing tensions between the noble houses of Westeros. Asha had recently captured Deepwood Motte and Moat Cailin, two prominent castles in the North, but so far there had been no mention of Theon, and you doubted their would be, he had been assigned with the meager task of raiding fishing villages.   
As such you had grown accustomed to sitting in the meeting hall and having the voices of the men lull you into a trance brought on by boredom, that was until you heard something that piqued your interest.   
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” you asked addressing the speaking Lord Codd, who shot you a death glare.   
“All I was saying, Lady Greyjoy, was that we’ve received a message from Prince Theon,” he said, “he has claimed to have captured Winterfell.”   
And just like that, everyone at the table was alive with chatter, some criticizing, some doubtful, but most in shock.   
How had he done it? Theon Greyjoy had handed them the North on a silver platter.   
“He’s a fool,” Balon Greyjoy barked, silencing the table.   
“What?” you said in shock, “it’s a major blow to the North.”  
Balon turned to you, “it won’t be anything if we can’t keep it,” he said as if he were speaking to a child, “which we won’t be able to, it’s too far inland.”   
“He’s requesting 500 more men and supplies,” Lord Codd spoke.   
“And he will get no such thing,” Balon spoke, “write back and tell him to abandon the castle and return immediately.”   
Lord Codd remained silent and swallowed harshly, “that’s not all, my lord,” he said.   
Something about his tone of voice sent shivers down your spine.   
“What else is there?” Balon asked.   
“He’s killed the youngest two Stark boys.”   
Another flurry of excitement at the table, but you remained still, feeling as if it were impossible to breathe, like the child growing inside you was suddenly making itself known as a weight n your belly, playing with your lungs like toys.   
Theon had killed two children, that was all you heard.   
The Stark boys, the boys he had been raised alongside, you remembered one was a cripple the other barely able to walk.   
And he killed them.   
“Damn him,” Balon barked again, “he’s forced our hand.”   
“What do you propose we do, my lord?” asked another Lord at the table.   
Balon mused this over in his head, “send Asha and her crew to him, gather the remaining Iron Men and send them home, convince my idiot of a son to join the Night’s Watch or stay there and perish.”   
“They’ll kill him at the Wall,” you spoke up, “half the boys there are Northern Born.”   
Balon shrugged, “it’s not my problem anymore, the boy’s a fool and he’s not welcome here, all he’d do is bring war to our shores again.”   
Tears stung in your eyes.  
Tears for the two dead boys, for Theon who had ruined everything, for yourself, for the boy’s families, but mostly for your own child who now would never get to know his father, who would grow up with the mark of his father’s foolishness like a brand upon him.   
“What about my daughter?” your own father spoke up, “what about her child?”   
All eyes turned to you, some filled with sympathy, others with contempt.   
Balon’s were empty, devoid of all emotion.   
“She will remain here,” he spoke, “she will give me a grandchild, she will remain a lady, it will be as if he’d died.”   
But he hadn’t died, you wanted to scream, he’s out there, sitting in a palace with blood on his hands, completely unaware of his own child.   
Nothing was right, this was not how it was supposed to be, it was like one big nightmare that you couldn’t wake up from.   
The meeting was adjourned and your father helped you out of your seat, shock holding you captive in your mind, neither one of you spoke, he simply just led you back to your room where Meena awaited you, then he informed her of what had happened and she had sobbed, but you did not cry.   
This was his choice, you told yourself, he had been weak and foolish and ignorant.   
You had to be strong, for you and your child.   
You could not break again.   
So you began to harden.


	14. Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell Burns and the world collapses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the Hiatus, my school just started the second semester and finals week was legit hell but hey! I passed with A's! So here's the next chapter please tell me what you think by leaving kudos and comments down below, also feel free to bookmark for updates as to when I post next!

When the news arrived that Winterfell had burned, you had not believed it at first. The idea of a great fire tearing its way across the land once the ocean had touched it seemed like an impossible act from one of the Stark’s old gods. But, as the moments ticked by, as Balon kept reading from the hastily scrawled message from one of the Bolton men, the fact of the matter sunk deeper and deeper into your bones until you could no longer deny what had happened and pretend it just a dream.   
Winterfell had been taken, just as you and every man on the council had assumed it would be, and no Ironman was spared, including Meena’s Daeron Blacktyde.   
A deep pain shot through you at the thought. Daeron Blacktyde, the man whose name you had barely remembered until now, whose only fault had been the love and respect he had held for his king and your sister that led him to follow his prince and brother-in-law into a battle he could never possibly win.   
The man who would never get to meet his child.   
He’d been flayed, at least that was what the letter read. Skinned from heel to head just as all the others.   
All the others except for your husband, who instead remained alive as a prisoner.   
A hostage once more, with the same Northerners who had stroked and nurtured his ego, the same men who he had betrayed and spat in the face of, the fathers of the boys he had murdered and the girls his men raped.   
This would not be another cushy confinement for your husband.   
“What are we to do, my lord?” a man at the table asked once the letter reading had finished.   
“What can we do?” he asked, “we cannot fight the Boltons, and if we do, what’s it for? For my idiot of a son?”   
“How about justice?” you spoke, “justice for the boys he tortured and murdered, that would be a cause worth rallying around.”   
Balon shot daggers at you, “if we were to fight the Bolton’s, if we were to win and kill their lord and his bastard, string them up like they did our men, we would have a dozen more enemies by the time the fight is over, we would be plunged into another unwinnable war that I have no intention of getting the Island into once more.”   
Rage bubbled inside your chest and you slammed your hand on the table hard enough the rattle the piece of furniture and cause a sting to sweep through your hand.   
“These men died for you,” you said, “they died for your son, and you won’t even bother to try to avenge them!”   
Balon stood and roared at you, “they died for your husband as well, and the child you carry inside of you! Tell me? If we were to go to war do you not think Joffrey would demand your son as payment? Would he not place the child in the arms of some stranger in some land and forbid you to see it? Would you be willing to risk that for thousands of more men to die for some impossible cause?”   
Tears pricked in your eyes.   
Balon was right, damn him.   
A war would mean thousands more dead, perhaps it would cost your father, your child, Tris...all for a handful of men who change nothing in the long run.   
And that would be just as unfair as what the Bolton’s had done to Daeron.   
“I think it best if she were to be dismissed for the day, my lord,” you father spoke, “she’s obviously emotional and not thinking straight, what with her condition.”   
Balon shot another glare at you, “yes, I think that best, leave us Lady (y/n).”   
You shot one more cursed glare at the man you called your good father, the grandfather of your child, before giving him a curtsey, and exiting. 

When Meena heard the news, she did not cry. Instead she remained completely unreachable for the better part of two hours. Frozen, staring off into space as if she herself had died with Daeron.   
But, just when you feared her gone forever, she began to laugh, a crazed, manic laughter that sent chills down your spine and made you want to vomit. She fell from her chair onto the floor and rolled with laughter, her breaths coming in gasps.   
Rather abruptly, she began to sob, uncontrollably. You rushed over and held her in your arms and let her lay her head in your lap and cry until she could cry no more, until her tears ran dry.   
For the next week after she did not speak.   
When Asha returned back home with Tris, you had rushed to them, your protruding belly unable to be ignored by now, and told them of what had happened. And, although Asha tried to act strong, you could tell something inside her had broke, some deep hope for her brother had been lost. Tris had consoled you, although you did not need it, you had not cried since that day at the council meeting.   
It had almost been like the sheer amount of tragedy had smothered any emotion inside you, killing the girl you had once been. 

Meena had gone into labor earlier than expected ten weeks shy of the expected birthdate. The Maester said it was likely due to stress caused by her husband’s death, and you agreed, your sister becoming a shell of herself since the news had broke.   
You stayed with her for the birth and sent word to your mother back at Harlaw that the baby had come early.   
Meena’s hand had been like a vice grip on your own, her screams had hurt worse than any wound, and when she called out Daeron’s name you had nearly began to cry.   
“Where is he?” she had asked, “where’s Daeron?”   
“It’s alright,” you soothed, “it’s alright, you just have to push.”   
And push she did.   
Her daughter, Yara, was born just as the moon rose into the sky. A kicking, screaming thing no bigger than the size of your forearm, but a fighter nonetheless.   
Meena had looked down at her daughter with all the love she could muster, the love she had held for Daeron mending itself and transferring towards his child.   
“She’s beautiful,” she had said, you had agreed.   
You had lit a fire in the room and moved the bed closer to the hearth so that Meena could still hold and feed her baby while it warmed. For a while, everything was perfect and you could almost see the fragments of your life being pulled back together like an unraveled embroidery.   
That was until the next day when Meena fell ill with fever which scorched her body. A wet nurse was found for Yara and you were ordered out of the room for your own child’s safety, the risk of an heir dying too high to risk even though the fever was caused by an infection that ravaged your beautiful sister and stole any hope you had left for her happy ending.   
The last time you saw her had been when they had dragged you from the room, she had been sleeping then, a sickly angel.   
She died two days later.   
And that was why you were here now, on the beach with your niece in your arms, her last living relative despite your parents and Jora. Your mother was next to you sobbing, Jora sobbed as well in your father’s arms, he did not cry, but you saw the red rims around his eyes that said he wanted to. Asha and Tris stood with you, Asha’s hand on your arm, a tether to reality.   
And it was only when the Drowned man pushed your sister’s body into the ocean that you allowed yourself to cry, your tears transforming you to stone.


	15. Within Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha and the Reader confront one another head on, will they be able to save their friendship for the sake of the baby?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So after a not-so-brief period of writer's block further intensified by three AP Classes, I'm back! And now that it's summer I'll be posting more frequently, so yeah, here we go! Thank you all much for the love and support you've shown this story and me these past couple of months, I love you all!

Your mother left Yara with you while she and Jora returned home, with no living relatives on her father’s side and her mother gone, she was now the lady of both estates, yet for the time being they would be signed over to her protector, you.   
You had decided your niece was to be raised at court with her cousin, the child would want for nothing, yet Meena’s claim on the estate, you had decided, would be transferred to Jora. Yara was already secure with her father’s home, Jora relied on a marriage and, if Meena were still alive, you knew she would have agreed.   
In the weeks after Meena’s death, you clung to your niece, refusing to leave her side for anything, not even when she fed from the wet nurse or slept in the small cradle by the fire. The very fact that she had survived was deemed nothing less than a miracle in the eyes of many, including you. Some even whispered Meena traded her life for Yara’s, you believed that one as well.   
You were currently nestled in your corner of the library with your niece in your arms. The sky outside was a watery grey color that signalled an incoming storm.   
Storms had always brought you a strange mixture of comfort and dread, they would invoke feelings of soft fur blankets against your skin, warm teas, warm fires, and good books, yet they would also bring dreams of falling towers and the bodies of men reduced to nothing more than piles of flesh and chunks of bone, their blood turning the sea red and the tears of their mother’s rivaling the pouring rain.   
They also brought you to Theon’s bed.   
Both children terrified of the lightning, seeking comfort in the shared horror between the two and allowing both to tremble and shake at claps of thunder and whistles of wind like hounds of Hell.   
Yara’s cries stirred you from your thoughts and you sighed, calling for the wet nurse to come and take her.   
You had thought of feeding her yourself multiple times, yet each time, Maesters and Midwives warned against it, saying it would likely lead to an early delivery of your own child, putting not only your life in danger but the life of the heir of Pyke. It was just not something you or anyone was willing to risk. Your father and Balon had toyed with the idea of forbidding it outright, but you agreed to heed the warnings and gave them no need for further concern.   
With Yara soothed and out of your arms, you stroked your own belly, wideout in front of you. You were the same distance along in your pregnancy as Meena had been with Yara, and in only a few short weeks, you would be in the same position your sister had been in: lying flat on your back in bed, legs spread, a midwife peering in between them. You shivered at the thought.   
Standing, you waddled over to the library window and stared out at the rain, once more becoming lost in thought only for you to come jolting back to reality with the sound of the opening of the heavy wooden doors.   
Turning you watched Asha as she carefully made her way over to you, her footsteps where timid, a trait you did not associate with the formidable girl you had grown up with.   
You hadn’t talked to her much since Meena’s funeral, actually, you hadn’t talked to her at all since Meena’s funeral. Maybe a passing glance during council meetings, long stretches of silence during nights spent in the study, her and her father pouring over papers and speaking in hushed whispers about battle plans and policy making, you writing letters to your family back home, sometimes pouring over a book while Yara slept in a little wooden cradle beside your seat.   
Life had returned to whatever semblance of normal that remained.   
“I knew you’d be in here,” Asha spoke first, finally moving to stand beside you.   
“When have you known me to be anywhere else,” you said in an attempt to lighten the mood.   
Asha gave a breath that could have been laughter, and then fell silent, coming to stand over by the window with you, both of you silently watching the storm together, the awkwardness of the situation festering between the two of you.   
As she was the brave one, Asha spoke first.   
“Your niece, how is she?” she asked.   
“Good,” you responded.   
“And your child?”   
“Growing stronger everyday,” you said, your child’s kicks confirming your words as you spoke them.   
Rubbing a soothing hand on your belly you turned to your former best friend. This baby was part of her as well, her brother’s child, and since you’d conceived the two of you had barely talked. The thought was a pang in your chest and you mentally scolded yourself for your self-centeredness.   
The child’s movements continued, them landing a swift uppercut to your spleen causing you to take a step back and attempt to re-gather your bearings. Asha, swept in, helping you steady yourself with an arm around your back and another gripping your elbow.   
“By the Drowned God are you alright?” she asked.   
You nodded, “yes, but I fear my child will be a proper good swimmer when they arrive.”   
Asha looked at you in confusion as she helped guide you to a chair, you laughed at her expression, your first real laugh in a long time.   
“They kicked me is all, took me by surprise,” you explained.   
Asha nodded as you sat down, and she stood there awkwardly as you settled.   
Your baby’s thumps still erratic inside you and you smiled down at it. They reminded you so much of Asha, who, in all her childhood, had never been able to sit still if only for a moment. She was always fighting or jumping or climbing or swimming. She was a wild thing, it was in her nature.   
One of the earliest memories you had was of you and Theon on the sandy beach shores. You, grounded to the floor, clumping sand into piles, constructing what at the time was to be an elaborate castle for which Theon hunted for shells. Your mothers had watched the two of you fondly, always close by. At the point when you were nearly finished constructing one of the moats, Asha had fallen from a cliffside and tumbled nearly two feet down to another stony edge, Alannys had screamed only for the eight year old to pick herself up and attempt the climb again.   
Alannys had sighed then and turned to your mother, “I wish I had had a girl like yours,” she said, “sweet and sedentary.”   
The two had laughed at her comment, and their laughter rung in your ears even now.   
Was this what your child was to be? Wild and reckless and just like their aunt?   
How long could this feud between the two of you continue when you carried a portion of her in your very heart and soul?  
Just as Asha was about to turn away and consider this meeting a failure, you stopped her, grabbing her hand.   
“Would you like to feel?” you asked.   
Asha looked at you in surprise for a moment, taken aback by your boldness, before she nodded.   
You guided her hand to your belly and waited for your child to navigate over to the newfound pressure. When they did, Asha’s face lit up with amazement at the feeling of her niece or nephew, for so long they had been such a faceless entity, one that symbolized the severing of your friendship, but now, it was real, it was something so much more than that, and she cursed herself for so long resenting the little human that resided within you.   
Tears dripped down her face and you took your thumb and wiped them away, bringing her back to the present.   
“It appears our roles have reversed,” you told her, this time earning a full out giggle from your sister-in-law.   
“They’re incredible,” she said, “so strong…”   
“Just like their aunt,” you commented.   
Asha shook her head, “no, like their mother.”   
You paused and she turned to look you in the eyes.   
“I’m not strong, Ash,” you whispered.   
Asha shook her head once more in disagreement, “you’re an idiot is what you are,” she said, “I could never do what you do.”   
“What are you going on about?” you asked.   
Your good sister sighed and shot you a look as if to say it were obvious.   
“I’m talking about how you’ve weathered so much in the past, what, nine months?” she said, “a broken heart, the loss of your sister, two children, and yet you’re still so...you.”   
Her words brought tears to your eyes and you gave a little laugh, “is that what you think?” you said, “Asha, I haven’t been myself since Theon returned, I mean, at first I cried all the time, then I felt as if I were invincible, on top of the world, only to have it collapse upon me, and then it was back to crying all the time and now…”   
“And now?” Asha asked.   
You took a deep breath, “and now I don’t feel anything,” you said, “it’s like I’ve turned to stone, like I’m just some ghost who haunts the castle.”   
Asha grabbed your hand, “don’t say that,” she said.   
You laughed as tears came to your eyes, “what? The truth?”   
You brushed her hand away and stood up, walking over to the window once more and leaning against it, you mumbled, “Asha, I’m a mess.”   
She stood up and quickly walked over to you, “no, you are not,” she said.   
“Yes I am,” you said, you turned to face her, your face soft and desperate, “I can’t do this on my own.”   
The older girl bit her lip as she took in the sight before her. Her best friend, the girl who she had grown up alongside, the girl who was now a sister to her was in so much pain, how had she not noticed before? Oh right, because the two girls, in their pain and anxiety, had abandoned one another in hopes of protecting themselves.   
How foolish they had been.  
Sweeping you into a hug, Asha pressed her lips to your temple, squeezing you tight, “you won’t have to,” she said, “I’m right here.”


	16. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha makes a promise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Sorry for the long hiatus but university kicks my ass lol.

The days with Asha and Tris by your side were easy. They distracted you from your worries and grief, they comforted you when the feelings overwhelmed, they kept you updated on council meetings and other news of the islands, they even had started helping with Yara on the rare occasions they felt inclined to.   
Some days, it was easy to pretend like nothing had ever happened. That the past months had been a terrible, terrible dream that you had now awoken from. Other days, the memories were too much and sank around you like a swamp, the dark, stinking thoughts clinging to your dress and pulling you into the festering sadness.   
Today was one of the good days, Tris sat with Yara on the floor, the baby nestled into his arms, her chubby, little hand resting on his cheek while you watched lovingly from your place by the window.   
Your stomach was now protruding so far out in front of you that you could no longer comfortably play with Yara on the floor, nor could you see your feet and, as such, you were now walking barefoot around the castle most of the time.   
“She’s being sweet today,” you commented to Tris and he smiled at you.   
“I think it’s just my natural way with the ladies,” he joked and you laughed back with him.   
You were about to say some scathing remark back at him when the doors to the library where suddenly thrown open and Asha stormed in, urgency and worry written across her face that made both you and Tris freeze.   
“There’s news,” she said, “about Theon.”   
You practically jumped to your feet (as well as you could given your condition). Tris remained seated on the floor with Yara and, when you looked back to see if he would stand to come, he shook his head.   
“You go,” he said, “I’ll watch over her.”   
You nodded and you and Asha both ran from the room.   
“What is it?” you asked.   
“A package was delivered during the council meeting along with a letter,” Asha said, refusing to say more until both you and her entered into Balon’s private sitting room. The King paced back and forth as he waited, only pausing when you and Asha appeared in the doorway.   
“Have you opened it?” you asked.   
Asha shook her head, “I told father to wait for you,” she said.   
You nodded and, with a shaky hand, touched the small package that sat on the table before you.   
It was a wooden box with a kraken carved into the side. Pink and red cloth sat in a pool of fabric below it and your blood went cold with the knowledge that the colors were that of House Bolton.   
You’d read about them once when browsing a book of sigils in the library. The flayed man was theirs. Supposedly it symbolized strength and glory in battle, but to you all it showed was sadism and brutality.   
Balon took the letter from the table and opened it was shaky hands while Asha and you crowded the box.   
For the first time in a long time, the dreaded snake of fear curled in your stomach, wrapping itself around your sternum and making you want to turn and run from the room and never return. But you stood firmly in your place, frozen in shock and anticipation of what had become of your husband.   
"Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands and invader of the North. I give you until the full moon to order all ironborn scum out of the North and back to those shit-stained rocks you call a home. On the first night of the full moon, I will hunt down every islander still in our lands and flay them living the way I flayed the 20 ironborn scum I found at Winterfell. In the box you'll find a special gift: Theon's favorite toy. He cried when I took it away from him."  
The words sent a chill down your spine and jabs of pit through your heart, but nothing could have prepared you for the moment Asha tore the box open and you saw what horrific thing it contained.   
You and everyone else were silent for a moment before you let out an ear piercing wail and collapsed to the ground, screams filling the room as you sobbed and gasped for air. Asha slammed to her knees on the ground next to you and pulled you to her chest as Balon finished reading, but the words fell on deaf ears.   
And just like that, all hope was gone. All hope that this was a passing nightmare disappeared because never in your most torturous and horrific dreams could you have imagine something as brutal and inhumane as this.   
This was real.   
Balon tossed the letter onto the table and turned to Asha, his face blank as he tried to process what he had just seen as well.   
“Get this out of my sight,” he said, “and get that screaming wretch to her rooms.”  
Asha turned a disgusted look up to Balon, “he’s your son,” she cried, “ we have to go after him!”   
Balon laughed bitterly and pointed to the box, “he’s no man, not anymore.”   
You sobbed even harder into Asha as the cruel words pounded into you like nails into wood.   
It wasn’t even until the most awesome pain you had ever experienced slammed into your middle that you noticed your gown soaked through with blood and a sticky clear fluid.   
No, you prayed, no not now, please not now.   
You screamed harder, in panic and in grief as both Balon and Asha screamed for guards and maidens, it was all a blur of chaos and shouting but you were numb, the physical and emotional pain having exhausted everything within you to the point where you did not realize you were dragged to your rooms, laid on the bed, and undressed before a maester before you felt Asha’s hand in yours, drawing you back to life.   
“You have to push, (y/n),” she begged, “please, please, just push, I can’t lose you.”   
“You have to go for him,” you sobbed, “you have to save him.”   
“You heard my father, (y/n), I can’t.”   
You sobbed harder, “please, my son can’t grow up without his father, please Asha, please!”   
She rubbed your head and another wave of pain hit but you didn’t move.   
“If both you and the child survive this,” she whispered into your ear, “I’ll do it.”   
“Truly?” you breathed.   
She nodded, “truly, now push.”   
And you did as she said, bearing down you forced all your remaining strength into your task, Theon’s eyes in your mind the entire time. Those beautiful blues the only thing making it possible in the moment.   
Two more pushes and your child was born, a flailing and screaming mess in the nursemaid’s arms.   
“It’s a boy,” Asha breathed, “you did it, you did it…”  
But you didn’t hear the rest because as soon as your son was born, the world stopped spinning and the exhaustion of the day finally caught up to you and you collapsed into darkness. 

Asha stood in the doorway of her room.   
According to her nursemaid she had woken once to feed the child, but now both of them were sleeping soundly and peacefully.   
The crew prepared the ships and readied themselves in their finest and strongest gear. She was leaving Tris behind to watch over both her best friend and the children. She had already said her goodbyes to him earlier, but saying farewell to you was the hardest.   
Stepping into the room, she pressed a soft kiss onto your forehead as not to wake you, and then one on her nephew’s downy haired head.   
She would keep her promise to you and your child.   
She would bring Theon home.


	17. Aidon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your son is born, you make him your promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please don't forget to leave your kudos and comments down below as well as bookmark the story for updates when I post next!

(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
He remembered her name long after he’d forgotten his own.   
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
He repeated it like a mantra, like a prayer.   
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
When the smell of smoke and the screams of men filled the air.  
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
Through the hours of endless pain.  
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
During nighttime when the dogs stopped barking and the darkness and rats were his only companions.  
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
In his dreams when she came to him, cleaning his wounds and holding him while he trembled in fear and sorrow. She’d bathe him in cold water and soak away every last trace of dirt and grime and shame, and then, when all was done, she’d place her lips on his and he’d taste her sweetness and she’d lead him to the bed and…  
No.   
No, that was not him.   
Not anymore.   
He was Reek.   
Reek.   
Now and forever.   
Forever.   
And ever.  
And ever.  
The blood of the rat he’d caught clung to his beard, as well as some of his own, the rat had still been alive when he’d bitten into it. It had scratched his cheeks with it’s little claws, it’s bones had ripped his gums.   
It had been the best meal he had had in a long while.   
Before the rat, he could not remember the last time he’d been fed. His limbs had grown slender, his ribs poked through his skin, his face was gaunt and his skin was pale.   
He did not look like himself anymore.   
Wait, yes he did.   
He did because he was Reek, not Him.   
Never Him.   
He was bold and craven.   
He was strong and proud.   
He was always smiling.   
Always arrogant.   
He was a man.   
A man.   
Reek was no man.   
No, no, no, no.   
Don’t think about that.   
Can’t think about that.   
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
The way she smelled like rose and lavender and parchment.   
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
The way her laugh sounded like how flowers look.   
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
The way her eyes glistened when she cried.   
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
The way she’d looked at Him once He’d told her He didn’t love her anymore.   
Reek laughed.   
Oh, what a lie.   
He didn’t lie anymore.   
He’d been taught the true price of his lies and deception.   
And Reek had paid them.   
No, no, no.   
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).   
(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/)......

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you’d awoken the next morning, a nurse had told you of Asha’s departure as you’d sat and nursed both your son and niece.   
In all the excitement and confusion, you had almost forgotten about the events of yesterday. About the promise Asha had made you as you gave birth, and to the horror that had inspired it.   
But now you remembered it fully.   
Every. Single. Detail.   
Your mind swam with questions and images and thoughts that you desperately did not want, and, during those rare moments of silence when the children slept in their cradle beside you, you were afraid that if you’d let them, those thoughts would pull you down and swallow you whole.   
And that could not happen.   
Your children needed you.   
Your family needed you.   
Theon needed you.   
When he came home, he’d need you.   
You didn’t know what else had been done to him, but whatever it was, you already knew that Theon would return a changed man.   
A damaged man.   
A broken man.   
A man no-more.  
And it would be up to you to pick up the pieces.  
And you would.   
You would do it till your hands bled and became numb.   
But that didn’t mean it’d be easy.   
Suddenly, a small whimper came from the cradle to your left. Turning, you looked down to see your son stretching his arms over head, his baby blue eyes scrunched as he yawned and looked up to you. You could not hold back a smile as you bent down and scooped him up into your arms.   
Your son.   
You still could not believe he was here.   
It had been almost two weeks since his birth now, and each day he’d never ceased to make you smile.   
Looking at him now, you were struck not for the first time how much he looked like both you and Theon. He was a perfect mixture of his parents. Theon’s curly, black hair, your nose, Theon’s cheeks, your ears. You weren’t the betting kind, but you’d place money that once his eyes changed they’d be the same color as yours, and his smile would be the same as Theon’s.   
“Good morning my little prince,” you whispered to him with a little laugh before kissing his forehead.   
Despite your words it was actually mid afternoon. Today had been his christening, when the Drowned Priest had dunked him in the waves and proclaimed him Aidon Baelorik Greyjoy, trueborn son of Theon Greyjoy and his legal wife, (Y/n) (Y/l/n), Prince of the Iron Islands and heir to Pyke.   
You had shed a few tears during the ceremony as one by one members of the court came up to acknowledge their new prince, your little boy, each congratulating you and placing kisses upon Aidon’s forehead in a blessing for the newborn.   
There were, however, some that had not been as warm and kind towards you and your child. Namely, your child’s own grandfather, Balon Greyjoy.   
Balon had been furious when he’d discovered what Asha had done.   
Even more so when he’d learned you were the one who’d made her.   
He glared at you through the entirety of your son’s christening, and when you’d meet his eyes he’d only glare harder. Even when he’d come to bless and greet your son, his glare had remained.   
“It’s a true miracle that both mother and son survived labor,” he’d said to you, “I had been sure that you would have ended up as your sister.”   
You’d swallowed back the lump in your throat. Snakes writhed in your stomach and, for the first time, you did not feel any shame or sadness, just the overwhelming power of rage and anger.   
How dare he say this to you. To your son.  
You’d smiled, “thankfully, both of us are still here,” you said, “and both of us intend to be here for a very long time.”   
You’d kissed your son’s head and Balon had walked away. His glare remaining on you the entire time, and Tris remained at your side protectively, shooting his own poison-filled glares at your father-in-law.   
Your son squirmed in your arms, drawing you back to reality, and you realized you’d stopped rocking him and started up again. His eyes were still fixed on you, his lips pressed together in a way that almost made him look serious and you had to suppress a giggle.   
You took your finger and lightly rubbed one of his chubby little cheeks, almost immediately his hand came up and wrapped around it, you lightly kissed his knuckles and smiled at him.  
“I love you, Aidon,” you whispered, “you and Yara are my life, and I promise you, as long as I live, that I will never abandon you.”   
You still couldn’t understand how your father-in-law could be so cruel to his last living son.   
You couldn’t wait until Theon was home and safe once again in your arms. You would deal with the repercussions of his crimes later, for now, all you wanted was for him to hold you and kiss you once more, for Aidon to meet his father and Theon to meet his son.   
“Just wait until you meet your father,” you said.   
You could not wait to have your family back.


	18. Power Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Balon threatens to take everything from you, how will you respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! All your love and support for this story has meant the world to me and I'm so glad you are enjoying this story! Be sure to comment and leave kudos and bookmark for updates to when I post next!

“Are you sure about this, (Y/n)?” Tris asked not for the first time.   
You nodded, “I have to,” you said, “this is the only way.”   
Tris sighed but relented and helped you climb down from your horse. You prayed he did not notice your trembling, whether it was from nerves or fear you didn’t know, all you knew was that you didn’t want him to see it.   
You had to be confident.   
You had to be graceful.   
You had to be perfect.   
Not exactly adjectives you would associate with yourself on a daily basis. But this was not about you, not the real you anyway.   
This was about the people. The low born Iron men and women who saw you as nothing more than a girl sitting in a palace with not a clue about humility or the day to day lives of those outside the top who she associated with.   
Today was about proving them wrong.   
Today was about getting them to love you.   
But most of all, today was about your son, and stopping Balon from being able to follow through on his threats.   
Yesterday evening had marked three months since the birth of Aidon and you finally felt able to attend another council meeting, your first one in almost nine months as they had forbade you from going to another soon after the birth of Yara.   
Putting both Aidon and Yara down for a nap in their crib, you had instructed the nurse to not disturb you during the meeting unless it was life threatening, giving her permission to feed the children should she need to, and scampering out the room to the meeting hall where council was held.   
You had just arrived and were about to enter the room when you realized that it was already being occupied by Balon and Victarion, the two were speaking in hushed voices but sounded frustrated and tense as if an argument was about to break out between them.   
“As long as she’s with that damn child she’s a threat,” Balon growled, “she’s already turned my own daughter against me, and that Botley boy follows her around like a lost dog, it’s only a matter of time before court sees it too, then what? I’ll have lost my own throne to a stupid little girl and her brats.”   
You scarcely breathed.   
It was you, they were talking about you.   
“What do you plan on doing then?” Victarion asked, “killing her or the child?”   
Your stomach tightened in terror.   
“Neither,” said Balon, “either one would cause outrage and grief throughout the islands and we can’t have that.”   
“So what then?” Victarion asked slightly more aggressively, “no more beating around the bush, brother, just say it.”  
Shuffling was heard in the room and you assumed Balon had taken a seat, standing for long periods of time aggravated his gout, you prayed it hurt.   
“I’m planning on sending her and that niece of hers back to Harlaw,” he said, “keeping the boy here to have him raised and educated as heir, far away from any influence of his mother.”   
Fear and rage bubbled inside you, the odd mixture making you wonder whether to cry or storm in there, fists flying, ready to kill both Greyjoys yourself.   
Instead, you chose neither, turning and practically running back to your room, ordering the nurse out and holding your son so close to you that not even a God could touch him.   
You wouldn’t leave your son. You couldn’t, the sheer act of being without him for a day would be agony, not to mention his entire life! A boy needed his mother, you would not let Balon deny your son that right.   
So you’d developed a plan.   
The only thing more powerful than a king, was their people, specifically in masses. What was one man against a nation? You’d read that in a book somewhere.   
You had to get them to love you, to see you as one of their own. To see them as theirs. The people’s princess, and the two children under your care? They would only become theirs through you.   
They would never let you leave them. If Balon tried, their would be outrage, riots, he would have no choice but to keep you and your children here, together, for the people.   
That was why you were here today. You would walk amongst them in a plain garment, your children nursing from a sling they lay in draped over your neck and resting just above your hips, no makeup, no expensive jewels save for the gold and silver in your purse you planned to hand out to the people on the street, the only ornament was the wooden carved pin of the eagle and cracken that you had on the sling.   
Today you were not a lady.   
You were not Princess.   
Today you were one of them.   
Down from your mount you began your progress through the city. You had not been to the market since your wedding, too much had happened for you to care about any of the vendor’s products or the sickly smells of fish and sugar from the food stands. Since the last trip, pictures of you and Theon had been distributed throughout the town, your portrait and a quick one of him had been hung in taverns and restaurants throughout Pyke. Your face had become famous overnight.   
At first, nobody paid you any mind. Simply accepting your coin and walking by. But soon, someone noticed. It was a young girl, only about fifteen or so, and a man who could have easily been her grandfather. The two stood at a stand selling very familiar wood carved trinkets. Some were animals, some were humans, but by far the one that caught your eye the most were the many hawk and kraken combination carvings spread out across the table.   
It was the girl who’d glanced at you at first, but then her mouth had dropped open and she’d began to stare. She’d quickly tugged the sleeve of the man next to her and pointed in your direction, quickly dropping into a low curtsey before you, the man bending on his knees as you approached.   
You walked over to them, the young girl kept glancing up quickly before returning her gaze to the ground as if she was in awe.   
“You know who I am?” you asked the girl.   
She nodded, still averting her gaze.   
“Yes my lady,” she responded softly, “my mother served in the laundry for many years.”  
“Does she still work there?” you asked.   
The girl shook her head, “she died three months ago.”  
You looked at the girl with sympathy, “I’m very sorry,” you said.   
By now a crowd had formed around you and the two sellers, all watching curiously in shock as the realization of who you were dawned on them.   
“And who is this man with you?’ you asked.   
“My grandfather,” she said, “he’s a gifted woodcarver, and he needs my help to carry his wares down from our home to town.”   
You nodded, “rise, sweet girl,” you said, “and you too sir.”   
The girl and her grandfather rose and you made your way closer to the table of goods, picking one up to examine it.   
“Did you design these, sir?” you asked holding one of the hawk and kraken creations.  
The man nodded, “yes m’lady,” he said.   
“How much for one?” you asked.   
The man shook his head, “for you, no charge, m’lady.”   
You shook your head in response, “no sir, I insist, how much?”   
“Ten copper pennies, m’lady,” he said.   
You handed him a silver stag and he looked at you wide eyed.   
“I may call upon you from time to time to help design new decor for the great hall, Pyke is in great need of repair,” you said.   
The man nodded, “it is an honor, your majesty.”   
You smiled and within moments the crowd was upon you, some flocking to the man’s stand, most crowding around you, some giving congratulations on the birth of the prince, others airing grievances which you offered aid for.   
In the end, you walked back to the horses and the crowd cheered for you as you rode away back to the palace where Balon stood furiously waiting for you.   
“That was quite the show,” he sneered, “parading yourself around like the gracious whore of the Iron Islands.”   
You stood like stone before your good father.   
“Say all you want, my king,” you said, “but if you try to remove my son from me now your reign will not extend much longer.”   
“You vindictive bitch,” Balon crowed.   
You stepped up to his face and looked him dead in his cold grey eyes.   
“You made me this way,” you said, “you gave me this power and you expected me not to use it? How stupid do you think I am? Did you think I spent all that time in the library learning nothing?”   
Balon stared daggers into you.  
You curtseyed just as that girl and her grandfather had earlier, except this time you did not break eye contact with the king until you rose and made your way back inside the palace, back inside your home.


	19. No Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha returns home, does Theon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the super long chapter but I got really into it and I'm SOOOOOOOO excited for what comes next! Remember to comment your thoughts down below and bookmark this series for updates when I post next!

Cold.   
It was a sensation he had become so used to over the years that he scarcely even bothered to notice it anymore.   
It was the same with the stench and the noise of the dogs.  
All of it dulled after a while until it faded into the background and became one with the rest of his surroundings. Until there was nothing left in the world but him and who he was.   
Well, almost.   
Sometimes she would come to him.   
In the middle of the night, when even the rats were asleep, she would arrive like a beacon of light in his ever dark world.  
She would be clad in white silk, her (y/h/c) hair falling down her back, her feet bare but clean, with not one speck of dirt covering them as if the grim and sick of the kennels refused to muddy such brilliance.   
She would come to his side and kneel down so that their eyes met. Her’s were just as perfect as the rest of her. They were more beautiful than any rainbow he had ever seen, glistening back and forth between different hues of (y/e/c), like two tiny skies exploding inside her mind.   
“Oh, my sweet prince,” she would whisper, “what have they done to you?”   
His words would catch in his throat, his tongue becoming nothing more than a piece of meat in his mouth.   
She must be mistaken, he would think, I’m Reek, I’m no Prince, I’m Reek.   
Reek, Reek, it rhymes with squeak.   
But he never could bring himself to say those words. Never able to tear himself away from her or turn her away.   
So she would bring her hand to his cheek, it would be soft and warm, and she would use her thumb to wipe at his cheek and only then would he realize he’d been crying.   
She’d shush him so gently and kindly that it would only make him want to cry harder because no one has ever been that kind to him. Reek did not deserve kindness. Reek was not even a man, what use would he have for such a beautiful girl and her kindness?   
But no words would ever come out, and instead, she would lay down by his side and pull him into her arms, his face would be pressed against her chest and the steady thrum of her heartbeat would lull him into a sense of serenity. Her fingers would play with his messy and matted hair, but she wouldn’t care, she’d never say anything cruel to him, her heart wouldn’t allow for it.   
Finally, his words would come back to him, and just as he opened his mouth to say her name, to tell her he loved her, to beg her to take him with her, to take all the pain away and make him whole again, to beg her to love him as he loved her, to beg for forgiveness for everything and anything and lay his heart and soul out before her for her to do with as she pleased…  
He’d wake up.   
And when he woke up, he’d be alone, with nothing but the cold, the smell, and the dogs to keep him company.   
\--------------------------------------------

A ship was spotted out on the horizon earlier the morning after your walk through town. You’d barely slept the night before, the excitement and adrenaline electrifying every inch of your body, but, the announcement of the Asha’s impending return and the prospect of being reunited with the man you loved once more meant that you didn’t even feel the exhaustion that was surely going to catch up with you in the impending weeks.   
But now was not the time to worry about you.   
You called for the nurses and your ladies and readied yourself to go meet Asha and Theon down at the docks. A dark green and brown silk and velvet dress was what you wore since it hid your post-pregnancy weight the best, not that you had a problem with it, but you didn’t want to overwhelm your husband.   
Skipping breakfast, you practically ran to Tris and asked him to escort you down to the docks, he agreed, and the two of you were off, riding to the very same spot where you and Asha had met Theon almost a year ago, except now there was no disguise, no trickery, nothing but you, your emotions bare and your heart thudding inside your chest.   
And your worry.   
Of course there was worry. The last time you had spoken to your husband had been the morning after your wedding when he told you that he didn’t love you, that he’d used you and that you were a fool for ever believing he could love such a stupid girl.   
You had thought it a lie, though a confusing one, and over the last year you had tried your hardest to forget, but what if it was true? What if he really despised you and seeing you would only make things worse? What if he truly wanted nothing to do with you?   
No, you couldn’t think about that.   
A small dingy rowed to the shore and at this point you were practically jumping up and down you were so excited and anxious and happy and terrified and relieved and oh god, you were going to cry, you were going to hug him and hold him until someone pried you off of him. You just wanted him to be safe, to start healing, to know he was loved and everything would be alright and everything would be fine.  
But then you saw Asha, her face grim and frustrated looking.   
What had happened? Oh gosh, what was wrong?   
You ran up to the edge where the men on the dingy began to climb ashore. There were only a handful of them, you scanned each one, attempting to find Theon in the crowd only to be met empty with Asha standing before you.   
“What happened,” you breathed, desperately trying to process what was going on, desperately trying to hold the remaining shred of your hope, “where is he? Where’s Theon?”   
You’d grabbed Asha’s shoulders urgently as if you asked tough enough Theon would emerge from the empty dingy and laugh and tell you that it had been a joke and that nothing, none of this had happened and it had all been a bad dream.   
But instead, Asha just shook her head.   
“He was dead when I got there, (Y/n),” she said softly, “they’d flayed him days after he was cut.”   
You let out a shocked gasp as you felt your world begin to crumble around you. Tears clouded your vision and suddenly it felt as if all the exhaustion had caught up to you because your body became lead and your knees weakened and you would surely have collapsed had Tris not grabbed you by the elbows and pulled you into him where you buried your face into his shoulder and began to scream.   
You screamed for Theon, for the pain he’d endured as he’d taken his last breaths in this world. You screamed for your son, who would never get to meet his father. You screamed for Yara, who had lost the only other man in her life who she would have a chance to call ‘papa.’ You screamed for Alannys, who had lost her last son, and for Asha who had lost her brother, and for you who had lost a husband.   
And you also screamed for the Bolton’s, the men who had stolen so much from the world. You screamed for the pain that they would face when met with you. You screamed for their agony as you ripped them heel to head just as they had your husband and his men and all the men that Asha had lost. You screamed for their wives and children who would soon bear the same pain that your were bearing now. But mostly, you screamed for the devils who would have them after you were finished. It was the devils who would need your prayers because with men like that, there could be no mercy, not for all of eternity, and it would be grueling.   
You had no idea how long you’d screamed, but once it had faded and your voice was gone and your throat was dry, the only thing left to do was cry.   
And so you did. 

\-------------------------------------------

She had cried all the way back to Pyke and hadn’t stopped until a maester arrived with a cloth covered in laudanum to press against her mouth and nose forcing her into a dreamless sleep.   
It had hurt Tris to see her in so much pain. It had terrified him as well. Even hours later her blood curdling screams still echoed in his mind and sent chills down his spine. If he could he would have taken some of her pain, he would bare it all just for her and those two babies she loved so much.   
For her, he would do anything.   
He had not left her bedside since she’d fallen asleep, his hand was wrapped protectively around hers as he watched her chest rise and fall steadily with each breath she took and released.   
“Please don’t leave us,” he whispered, “you cannot become Alannys, those babies still need you and Asha can’t do it herself.”   
Even his own joke didn’t get him to laugh. It wasn’t funny when the horrifying reality was staring back at him.   
Suddenly, the door to the room opened and Asha stepped in, her gaze just glancing over (Y/n)’s sleeping form before going back to him.   
“Tris,” she said, “can I speak with you in the meeting hall for a moment?”   
Tris gave her a look, “can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?”   
Asha looked at (Y/n) once more.   
“She’s not going to wake up while you’re away,” she said, “the maester gave her enough to make her sleep for two days.”   
Tris turned back to look at (Y/n).   
“She’s defiant, she’ll make it last another hour,” he said.  
Asha sighed, “Tris, please, it’s important.”   
Tris turned to look at her and was struck by the sheer pain and torment on her usually stoic face.   
There are more people suffering than just (Y/n), Tris thought to himself.   
He placed a kiss onto (Y/n)’s knuckles before getting up and following Asha to the meeting hall.   
She shut the door quietly behind them and turned to face Tris, she let out a sigh of relief that was shaky and Tris felt his chest tense.   
“What do you have to tell me?” he asked.   
Asha shook her head, “it’s about Theon,” she whispered.   
Tris looked at her confused, “it’s not your fault, Ash.”   
“What are you talking about?” Asha asked.   
Tris shrugged, “you did everything you could to save him,” he said, “but we were too late, all of us were, we never stood a chance at getting him back.”   
Asha shook her head, “no, Tris…”   
“Yes, Ash,” he interrupted, “you cannot blame yourself for something the Bolton’s did. They’re the ones that killed him, they’re the ones that tortured him, they’re the ones responsible, not you, do you understand?”   
“Tris…”   
“Seriously Ash, you did everything you could to bring him home, it’s not your….”   
“Theon’s alive!” Asha cried.   
Tris paused and stared in shock at his best friend.   
“What?” he breathed.   
Asha growled and ran her hands through her hair angrily, “It was a lie,” she said, “it was a lie, he’s alive and he’s still in Winterfell.”   
Tris paused for a moment as it processed in his brain, but then the overwhelming anger and betrayal pushed to the surface and he found himself throwing Asha against the wall and rushing out of the room.   
“Where are you going?” she called out.   
He turned around, “I’m going back to wake up (Y/n) and tell her that all of this was just some sick fucking joke!”   
“No Tris!” Asha cried rushing up to him and yanking him back into the meeting room, “you can’t.”   
“Give me one good reason why not?” he asked.   
“Because it’s not him,” she said, “he’s different now, broken, beyond repair.”   
She rolled up her sleeves and showed Tris the healing bite wound on her forearm, “he did this to me when I tried to rescue him, it’s like he didn’t even know me, he kept calling himself Reek and screaming that he was good and that I was tricking him and that is not my brother, Tris, I tried but I couldn’t and if you tell (Y/n) that he’s alive she’ll want me to go back but pointless unless I want to lose another fifty men or so, it’s just easier if we tell her he’s dead and gone and then we can all start to move on and forget that anything had happened at all this past year!”   
Tris sighed and leaned against one of the tables as he turned Asha’s words over and over in his mind.   
“She needs to move on,” Asha spoke again, “and he can never be a father to Aidon or Yara, this is for the best.”   
Tris thought for a moment before he nodded.   
“I want her to be happy,” he said, “I want her children to be happy.”   
Asha sighed, “I do to,” she said, “and seeing her like this breaks my heart but it’s the only way we even have a chance of seeing her again.”   
Tris nodded, “I won’t tell her,” he said.   
And Asha let out a sigh of relief.


End file.
